Title: 1812: A tale of Cape Cod
Author: Fitzgerald, Michael
Language: English
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  1812

  [Illustration]

  A TALE _of_
  CAPE COD

  By Michael Fitzgerald

  YARMOUTHPORT, MASS.:
  C. W. SWIFT, PUBLISHER AND PRINTER,
  THE “REGISTER” PRESS,
  1912.



  Copyright, 1912, by
  Charles W. Swift.



  TO
  THOMAS CHANDLER THACHER,
  A LOYAL SON OF CAPE COD,
  THIS VOLUME
  IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.



PREFACE.


In this story of Cape Cod during the War of 1812 the author has essayed
to give an accurate picture of some of the trials which the harassed
inhabitants endured under the guns of the British warships.

The plight of Eastham in those days was that of many other towns on the
Cape. The seafaring population of the district was utterly at the mercy
of the enemy and all trade was at a standstill in consequence of the
embargo on commerce. Deserted by the National and State governments,
the sturdy people bore their sufferings with heroic fortitude and
stubbornly resisted the invasion of their shores, now meeting the
arrogant foe in deadly combat and driving him to his boats, and again,
successfully matching their wits against his might, capitulating only
when further resistance appeared useless.

The author has had the advantage of many years’ residence in the
district and the privilege and pleasure of close acquaintance with
the descendants of some of the characters in this tale, and, as an
interested student of local history and tradition, his researches have
instilled him with intense admiration for the virile race that first
settled on this historic ground and whose indomitable perseverance and
success in the face of almost insuperable difficulties have won the
applause of the world.

“Old times have changed, old manners gone,” but in the little towns
of the Cape today the sons of this brave old stock preserve many of
the salient characteristics of their sires and are not lacking in
the spirit which made Cape Cod something more than a geographical
expression in the annals of the Nation.

“Hoppy” Mayo, Peter Walker, Squire Harding Knowles and others mentioned
in the story were sterling citizens of Eastham a century ago and
they were typical of the men who lived in those days; men of keen
intelligence and patriotism, graduates of the little red schoolhouses
where they were taught to express their thoughts in the clear English
which was the language of their Pilgrim ancestors.

In this little volume the author has followed closely the facts as
recorded by such writers as the Rev. Enoch Pratt, the Hon. Charles F.
Swift and others who have given attention to the story of Cape Cod. The
main purpose of the book is to stimulate interest in the study of the
chronicles and traditions of the Cape and the author hopes that his
efforts in this direction will merit the approbation of the public.

East Brewster, Cape Cod.



CHAPTER I.

The Capture.


In the year 1814 Provincetown was the rendezvous of the British fleet
which harassed the Massachusetts merchant marine and levied tribute on
the towns of Cape Cod. The inhabitants of the Cape were practically
defenceless against the enemy, and though the artillery of the period
was of insignificant calibre as compared with the big guns of the
present day, the British gunners were able to terrorize the scattered
communities of the coast and it was a time of stress and trouble for
the good people of Cape Cod.

Added to this, the war was unpopular in the district. The embargo
proved disastrous to American shipping and particularly affected the
seagoing population of the Cape. When we consider that Cape Cod was
vitally interested in maritime pursuits we can understand how the
deadlock in commerce was responsible for local discontent. The position
of the inhabitants immediately under the fire of the warships was
well-nigh intolerable, but their patriotism never wavered however much
they disapproved of the war.

One summer day in this troublous year, a large whaleboat emerged from
Boston harbor and bore away for Eastham, Cape Cod. The crew consisted
of two men, Winslow L. Knowles and Matthew H. Mayo. They were both
in the prime of life, typical Cape Codders, and had been masters of
fine vessels before the war destroyed the trade. Their whaleboat was
a tiny craft in comparison with the stately merchantmen in which they
had sailed the seven seas, and the skippers keenly felt their fallen
fortunes. They were now at the very nadir of the profession, forced to
sneak from port to port in a vessel not much larger than one of the
ships’ boats of their former commands.

But what was the use of complaining? That villainous British fleet with
its barges and light cruisers was never far away. A round shot across
their path might at any moment bring them to, and then the Eastham
folks would have to go without the goodly supply of food and drink with
which the boat was laden.

As they crept across the bay before a light wind the skippers exchanged
reminiscences of their long voyages and found satisfaction in relating
stirring episodes of their experiences. Meantime, a good lookout was
kept for the enemy, but the coast seemed clear with the exception of a
small schooner dead ahead. They took her to be a Duxbury fisherman.

“It seems to me, Win, that the ‘Spencer’ must be in Provincetown. There
hasn’t been much for her to fuss about lately.”

Captain Mayo was somewhat older than his companion. He was generally
known as “Hoppy” Mayo, the sobriquet being derived from his middle name
“Hophney.”

“Yes, it looks that way, Hoppy; but you can never tell anything about
that frigate. Old Raggett has got a fine ship and he likes to show her
off. Shouldn’t be surprised to see her at any moment.”

“Raggett is a fair enough chap,” said Hoppy. “Of course, he has to obey
orders, and he’s got to do the dirty work planned for him in London;
but he’s not looking for trouble and if he doesn’t catch you in the act
he lets a good many things pass.”

“Damn this war, anyhow,” said Captain Knowles bitterly.

“Yes, Win, damn the war if you like, but it had to come. Why, that last
voyage Zeke Bangs made didn’t a British man-o’-war take four men out
of his ship and he dare not kick! These Britishers think they own the
world, land and water alike, and ’twas about time to let them know some
other people had a few rights.”

“Yes, but we weren’t prepared for war,” retorted Captain Knowles.

“Seems to me we were just as much prepared as we were when the
Revolution was started. Good Lord, man, how long do you think we should
wait while this bully of the seas was driving us to desperation? Isn’t
it bad enough to pay tribute to the Algerine pirates? Must we forever
be treated as children? Does any sensible person think this American
nation is going to remain in swaddling clothes until the crack o’ doom?”

The argument continued with unabated vigor until the whaleboat was
nearly abreast of the schooner which had been forgotten in the heat of
the discussion. Suddenly a round shot plunged into the water and both
skippers jumped to their feet.

“What the devil is that for?” exclaimed Hoppy.

“Well, it means that we’re caught in a trap,” replied Captain Knowles.

And so it proved to be. The schooner which they had taken for an
inoffensive fisherman was manned by British seamen from the “Spencer,”
and was one of many captured craft which the enemy used for operations
in the shallower waters of Cape Cod bay. A second shot brought the
whaleboat to.

As the schooner approached, the Americans felt all the bitterness of
defeat. In Boston they had been told that they stood a good chance of
getting home safely. The frigate had not been seen in the bay during
the previous week, and they had started with high hopes of a successful
run. Now they were in the toils and Tom Crosby’s two hogsheads of good
Jamaica rum would cheer the thirsty foe! Friends in Eastham would
miss the comforting gill which in those days was deemed essential to
the perfect enjoyment of life. Altogether it was a most humiliating
situation. Here were two of the most successful runners in the business
held up by a stratagem which they should have foreseen and which the
veriest landlubber would have looked out for. What a subject for
Peter Walker’s sarcastic rhymes! The British bullets and bayonets were
harmless compared with the poisonous shafts of Peter’s poetic quiver;
their misery could be quickly ended by the former, but Peter’s undying
verse could be read by future generations and Hoppy Mayo and Win
Knowles would be the laughing-stock of posterity!

“Boat ahoy!”

“Hullo!” answered Hoppy.

“Come aboard!” shouted the officer on the schooner’s deck. They were
soon alongside. Lieutenant Fotheringay of His Britannic Majesty’s
frigate “Spencer” greeted them:

“It is the fortune of war, sirs. You have escaped us many times, but
the pitcher goes to the well once too often! Captain Knowles, you and
your friend are well known to us. Captain Raggett’s orders to us were
to get you at all hazards. I hope you will have no reason to complain
of your treatment, at least until your case is finally disposed of by
the commanding officer of this station.”

“We’re much obliged, I’m sure,” replied Hoppy with a touch of irony;
“but what puzzles me is how you happened to get hold of our names?”

The officer smiled as he answered:

“Surely, Captain Mayo, you did not suppose we were ignorant of your
existence? Captain Raggett has had intimate knowledge of your exploits
for some time but you have eluded him until now. Further than this
I cannot tell you at present, but I may tell you that the next time
you go to Boston it will not be wise for you to trust every chance
acquaintance you meet on the waterfront!”

The prisoners looked at each other significantly.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” exclaimed Knowles; “so it was that chap we met
at Snow’s tavern! Might have known it, too; he was abusing Raggett a
bit too much.”

The lieutenant invited them to the cabin and treated them handsomely.
In a few hours they reached Provincetown and as night fell the schooner
dropped anchor under the lee of the “Spencer.”



CHAPTER II.

At Crosby’s Tavern.


The tavern kept by Master Thomas Crosby at Eastham was thronged on the
evening that Hoppy Mayo and his comrade, Win Knowles, were expected to
arrive from Boston. Crosby’s cellar was nearly empty of the cheering
liquor that helped the male inhabitants of the town to bear the
hardships of the woeful condition to which they were reduced by the
fortune of war, and the fresh consignment which was known to be on
the way was eagerly awaited. It must not be inferred from this that
the population was inclined to riotous living. On the contrary, the
people were of an orderly and peace-loving, nature, but the advocates
of total abstinence had not yet made much progress on Cape Cod, and in
accordance with the custom of their fathers, the men of Eastham were
not averse to taking a friendly gill in company with their neighbors
who met for gossip and entertainment under Crosby’s hospitable rooftree.

Master Peter Walker, of whom it has been told by the historian that
his wit was keen and his learning great, occupied his favorite seat
by the huge chimney-place, which, however, was fireless at this
season. Master Walker was a blacksmith by trade, and a poet by choice.
Selectman Harding Knowles and his colleagues on the Board were there.
Much attention was paid to the opinions of Squire Knowles who was a
gentleman of great dignity and knowledge of affairs. “Uncle” Jabez
Rich, retired schoolmaster, feeling somewhat the burden of his ninety
years, sat opposite Master Walker. Uncle Jabez had a wonderful memory
and was fond of telling of his stirring adventures during the old
French wars. The rest of the company was made up of citizens engaged in
various occupations; artisans, farmers, fishermen and shipmasters. The
latter were chafing under the enforced idleness caused by the enemy’s
blockade of the coast. Captain Jared Higgins was especially emphatic in
condemning President Madison for challenging the might of England on
the high seas when the United States had no navy capable of meeting the
numerous squadrons of Britain. Captain Jared was a staunch supporter
of Governor Caleb Strong of Massachusetts and voted for him on every
occasion that the anti-war governor sought office. Partisan feeling ran
high in those days and heated argument was not uncommon at Crosby’s.
However, private opinions were forgotten when it came to presenting a
solid front to the enemy.

The township of Eastham was part of the ancient territory of the Nauset
Indians. It was settled in 1644 by Thomas Prence, later governor of
Plymouth Colony, who, accompanied by the famous Deacon John Doane and
a chosen party of colonists, purchased land from the Nausets and made
their homes in the locality. These first settlers of Eastham were
men of high character. The men who formed the gathering at Crosby’s
tavern on the evening of which we write were mostly descended from the
pioneers who faced the wilderness and the savage in search of freedom
to worship God in their own way, and their descendants had inherited
this love of liberty and sturdy spirit of independence. Men of pure
English stock predominated, but on the features of a few could be
traced the evidence of mixed descent. The dark-eyed maidens of the
Nausets had not been found unwilling to share the white man’s lot,
and though the red man had vanished from the district, a dash of his
blood remained to tell of some forgotten romance in the olden days.
Strong-bodied, self-reliant citizens were these people of Eastham.
Their mode of speaking was clear and incisive, denoting a high degree
of intelligence. Many of them had acquired in the great school of
world-wide experience a polish of manner and a courtliness of bearing
that became them well.

The well-worn arguments on the questions of the day were threshed out
vigorously until the night was well advanced. Still no sign of the
voyagers and a general feeling of uneasiness as to their fate became
manifest.

“Something must have gone wrong with Win and Hoppy,” remarked Obed
Sparrow. “They should have been here long ago.”

Peter Walker winked at Crosby. “Neighbor Sparrow is getting anxious
about the stock in hand, Master Crosby,” insinuated Peter.

“Well, Master Walker,” replied mine host, “Obed has good reason to feel
anxious about it, if that’s what’s in his mind. My last hogshead of
Jamaica is running low.”

“Oh,” Peter put in slyly, “you may be doing Obed an injustice. Perhaps
he’s thinking about the molasses. Mistress Sparrow is famed for her
cookies, you know.”

Everybody laughed. “What was that rhyme of yours on the subject,
Peter?” inquired Squire Knowles.

“If it wouldn’t hurt Obed’s feelings,” replied Master Walker, “I might
give you a verse or two, if only to help pass the time.”

“Let’s have it, Master Walker!” cried several in chorus.

“Well, neighbors, it isn’t very good poetry, but it’s good rhyme and
it’s a tribute to Mistress Sparrow’s accomplishments.”

Master Walker cleared his throat and began:

  This good old town of Eastham boasts
    Of gallant men and true,
  Who never shirked their duty when
    The call of country blew;
  Who carried sail thro’ many a gale,
    To meet upon the sea
  The British foe, and strike a blow
    For home and liberty!

  And foremost in the battle’s van
    Bold Obed leads his crew;
  He’s always there his part to share
    In deeds of derring-do!
  And when he brings his prize to port
    Thro’ storm and flying foam,
  He’ll proudly tell he’d conquer hell
    On the grub he gets at home!

Cheers and laughter greeted this sally and Master Walker was urged to
continue. Obed was particularly clamorous for the rest of the verses.
He loved to hear his good wife praised.

“Aye, it is just like your blood, Peter,” muttered Uncle Jabez. “I
remember well when Jonas Walker kept the camp in goodhumor that time
before Louisburg. We were in the Fourth company of Gorham’s Regiment,
and Elisha Doane, our captain, used to say that Jonas Walker was the
life and soul of the regiment. Colonel Shubael Gorham often had Jonas
to amuse the officers when they supped in the Colonel’s tent.”

“Those were stirring times, Uncle Jabez,” said Squire Knowles.

“Aye, Squire; there were fine men in that regiment. I have seen Captain
Joseph Thacher, of Yarmouth, go right through an embrasure into the
Grand Battery while the bullets were thick as hail.”

“You must tell us the story some time, Uncle Jabez. Master Walker might
get offended if we don’t listen to the rest of his poem.”

“It’s getting late, neighbors,” said Peter. “Some other time I’ll
finish it.”

Harding Knowles and Peter Walker went home together.

“Peter,” said Harding, “if Hoppy and Win do not arrive during the night
we must conclude something serious has happened. I sincerely trust they
have not been captured.”

“I’m afraid that’s just what has happened, Harding,” replied Peter.
“That runner from Provincetown told me last week that the British
seemed to be up to something new. He said Raggett hadn’t been ashore
for a week, and that seemed strange, as Raggett was fond of stretching
his legs over the dunes.”

“I fear there is bad work ahead for us, Peter. Hoppy is hotheaded, you
know, and he’ll be apt to give offence to those fellows at whose mercy
we are. ’Tis said they are going to levy tribute on the Bay towns, and
God only knows how we are to meet it. The Committee of Safety has been
considering the matter. Some are for fighting it out; others consider
that course unwise as we have no armed force to signify.”

“I plainly see we are in a bad fix, Harding, but we can only wait and
hope for the best. Raggett’s been pretty good about it up to this and
if he’s changed, it must be due to orders from London.”

“That’s so, Peter. The National government little realizes the hardship
of our position, and even if it did, we have no naval force for the
protection of the Cape. The scattered units of our navy are doing great
work but the British are in overwhelming numbers. The loss of the
Chesapeake last year was disheartening.”

“Well,” replied Peter, and there was fire in his eye, “you know,
Harding, what Lawrence said on that occasion: ‘Don’t give up the ship!’
Keep that in mind, Harding, and we may yet bring the bully of the Bay
to terms.”

“Let’s hope for the best, Peter. Good night.”

“Good night, Harding.”



CHAPTER III.

Prisoners of War.


After a night of fitful slumber, the captives were awakened early
by Dunton, the master’s mate left in charge of the schooner when
Lieutenant Fotheringay went aboard the frigate. Dunton was a surly
fellow, over middle age, and heartily hating all Americans who, in his
opinion, were an inferior breed of English inhabiting a semi-civilized
land. To him they were “damned Yanks,” deserving of neither courtesy
nor favor.

“Lively, you fellows; get ready to go aboard the frigate.”

Hoppy coolly looked him over. “I guess there ain’t much getting ready
about it, my friend. You see, we kind o’ forgot to bring our Sunday
clothes, not expecting this honor.”

“I don’t want any back talk from prisoners,” replied Dunton, sneeringly.

“Is that so?” asked Hoppy in an even voice, though inwardly he felt
like kicking the officer. “Well, now, I should think you’d like a
little chat, seeing you’re so friendly about it.”

“Nice pair of scarecrows you are to go aboard a king’s ship and meet a
post-captain!”

This was intended to silence Hoppy. Hoppy flushed, and Captain Knowles,
seeing trouble ahead, nudged his compatriot warningly but without
effect.

“Don’t know as you’re any beauty yourself, Dunton, with all your finery
in the way of brass buttons. Ignorant folks might take you to be the
king of England himself, but I have met king’s officers before now and
I know that a master’s mate of your stripe is no ornament to a ship’s
company.”

Dunton was furious. “You’ll be sorry for those words yet, you damned
Yankee smuggler!”

“Maybe so,” returned Hoppy. “I’m willing to take a chance, anyway.”

There was some time to wait for the small boat to return from the
frigate, and from the deck of the schooner the prisoners had a fine
view of the splendid harbor of Provincetown, capable of affording
anchorage for a thousand sail, as was noted by Bradford when the
Mayflower first made the port. Many times had the captives sailed on
these waters and to them every depth and shallow was familiar. And
yet, notwithstanding the glorious summer morning, there seemed to be
the shadow of disaster over the scene. The town had suffered severely
from the presence of the enemy’s ships. Commerce was completely at a
standstill, for the great industry of the place, fishing, could not be
carried on under the muzzles of the British guns, and the few vessels
left in the port were rotting on the beach. The population was reduced
to a state of dumb submission to the invaders and, with the exception
of the British ships, the roadstead was a waste of waters.

About fifty yards from the schooner, the “Spencer” presented a sight
to gladden a sailor’s eye. Her towering masts and trim rigging showed
clearly against the sky. Her deck was a-swarm with busy men and her
burnished brasswork shone in the sunlight.

“She certainly is a beauty, Hoppy,” remarked Captain Knowles admiringly.

“Yes, Win, she is surely that,” replied Hoppy. “No wonder Raggett is
proud of her.”

“Well, he’s got about three hundred hands to keep busy and they have
nothing else to do but keep her tidied up. If there was a little more
fighting she mightn’t look so pretty. Still, I don’t think I should
like this navy life, myself.”

“Same here, Win. These Britishers have always had a navy and got
kind o’ used to the thing, but we have hardly started in. Maybe in
a few more years we shall have something besides a few cruisers and
privateers to meet them.”

Soon after this the boat arrived and the prisoners were transferred to
the frigate.

Lieutenant Fotheringay, courteous as ever, met them at the gangway.

“Gentlemen, Captain Raggett desires your presence in his cabin.”

“Well, now,” said Hoppy smilingly, “I’ll be hanged if it’s not a
pleasure to meet a gentleman once more, even if he’s an enemy!”

“Thank you, Captain Mayo.”

“That fellow Dunton might take a few lessons in manners from you,
lieutenant. He wants ’em badly.”

Before they reached the cabin, Fotheringay stopped them, saying:

“So you have had trouble with Dunton? I expected it, and I am sorry
that any unpleasantness should have arisen. However, it is not for me
to say anything against a brother officer. Let it pass. I take this
opportunity to tell you that Captain Raggett is in a very bad humor.
He has had despatches from the Admiralty finding fault with him for
not being more active in harassing the shore towns. There is trouble
hatching for your people and it will not help matters if you cross him
in any way. Captain Mayo, you will excuse me, but I think you are a
little hotheaded. You had better let Captain Knowles do the talking.”

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Fotheringay,” said Hoppy heartily, “Win
certainly is a smoother talker than I am; never much of what you call
a diplomat, myself. But whatever happens, we want you to remember that
we are grateful for your kindness, and if all Britishers were like you,
there would be no trouble.”

“And I, Mr. Fotheringay,” said Win, “repeat what I said to Hoppy
yesterday, ‘Damn this war!’ And now more than ever when it makes us the
enemies of a man like you.”

“You are very good to say so,” replied the officer.

In response to a knock at the captain’s door, a gruff voice bade them
enter. Captain Richard Raggett arose from his chair when Fotheringay
saluted and introduced the unwilling guests. The captain’s keen eyes
searched the faces of the prisoners as he motioned them to be seated.

Post-Captain Richard Raggett of the Royal Navy was a stout man of about
sixty years of age. “Old Dick Raggett,” as he was familiarly known
throughout the service, was an officer of the school that gave Britain
such sailors as Rodney, Nelson, Collingwood, and others whose names are
inseparably connected with the story of England’s glory on the high
seas. He had fought under his country’s flag in every quarter of the
globe and for nearly half a century he had served his king with devoted
loyalty, always obeying orders no matter what those orders might be.
In battle he was unrelenting, but he was never known to press unfairly
a beaten foe. He had no liking for his present duty on the coast of
Massachusetts. There was no glory in bullying defenceless villagers
and he had not exerted himself overmuch in the operations against Cape
Cod. But London had reminded him that there was a state of war between
the United States and Great Britain and that the government expected
some positive results from the blockade of the New England coast.
Raggett was stung by the sarcasm of the reminder. He knew his enemies
at headquarters were at work to discredit him and he was determined to
outwit them at any hazard.

He was, then, in no amiable mood as he addressed the Cape men:

“So you have been running the blockade in a whaleboat? Pretty small
business for shipmasters like you?”

“Shipmasters without a ship, Captain Raggett, and until captured
engaged in bringing necessaries of life from Boston to our town,”
replied Captain Knowles.

“By G----, sir!” cried Raggett with the suspicion of a smile, “your
people have a pretty good idea of what are necessaries of life. I find
that your cargo mostly consisted of good Jamaica rum.”

This rather upset Win, but Hoppy was equal to the occasion.

“It’s like this, Captain Raggett,” said he; “there’s been quite a lot
of sickness in the place, and we old sailors know there’s nothing can
break up a cold like the old-fashioned cure of rum and molasses.”

“Well, I’m afraid the invalids will have to suffer this trip.”

“Looks that way, Captain Raggett,” assented Hoppy dolefully.

“Now, my men,” said Raggett, “you know I have been very lenient about
this business. It’s not the sort of warfare I’m used to. But it’s got
to stop now. I’ve got myself into hot water with the authorities in
London on account of my leniency and I don’t mind telling you that I
don’t like being reprimanded by fellows who never went a mile to sea
in the whole course of their clerkly lives. But that has nothing to do
with the matter at present. Dick Raggett has got orders and, by George,
he’s going to obey them! I have had scouts out for you for some time,
and I’m going to hold you until ransomed.”

“Then that will be forever!” exclaimed Hoppy. “There’s no one to ransom
us, Captain Raggett. Of course, you can confiscate our boat and cargo,
and hold us prisoners, but if you fix the price too high for our means,
then that fixes us so far as we are concerned.”

“I must make an example of your capture,” replied Raggett, “because you
two are the most daring and successful of all the runners. But that
doesn’t mean that my terms can’t be met. I confess I admire your pluck
and resourcefulness.”

“Of course, Captain Raggett, we are entirely at your mercy,” said
Captain Knowles, “but we have no reason to fear harsh treatment so long
as we are in your hands. In the event of our not being able to meet
your terms, we stand a chance of being transferred from your ship. Some
Cape Cod men are just now in Dartmoor prison.”

“You will not be maltreated on the ‘Spencer,’ that I can promise. In
the event of transference to another ship, you must take your chances
with the rest.”

“If it would not be asking too much, Captain Raggett, we should like to
know what your terms are?”

Raggett paused for some minutes before replying. His usual good temper
was coming back. He saw that the men with whom he was dealing were
above the ordinary standard of the seamen of the period, both in
education and intelligence, and while he knew just what he wanted of
them, he was unwilling to alienate their good opinion of him by any
premature announcement of his plans.

“My friends,” said he, “I think we had better postpone the discussion
of that point until this evening. You must have a look over my ship. I
am sure she will please old skippers like you. Mr. Fotheringay, who has
given me some knowledge of your standing in your community, will take
you in charge. Meantime, permit me to offer you some of this special
brand.”

The Cape Codders raised their glasses. “Here’s to your good health,
Captain Raggett,” said Hoppy. “Let’s hope that this war will soon be
over and that our countries will never have another!”

“I heartily join you in that, my friends,” responded the British
commander. “At the same time, I can imagine the horror of some
gentlemen in London if they ever hear that ‘Old Dick Raggett’ was
clinking glasses with two of the most venturesome blockade runners on
the Massachusetts coast!”

With a laugh at the thought, he sent them on deck where Fotheringay
took charge of them.



CHAPTER IV.

Uncle Jabez Spins a Yarn.


The news of the capture of the whaleboat and its occupants soon became
known to the inhabitants of Eastham and the tidings were received
with dismay. The loss of the boat and her cargo was bad enough, but
the fact that two of the neighbors were prisoners and liable to be
sent across the ocean to Dartmoor caused consternation in the town.
Then, again, the incident clearly betokened a change of policy on
the part of the British. It was evident that the blockade was to be
enforced rigorously, and this meant a scarcity of those provisions
which the people were accustomed to get from Boston. Rye was plentiful,
but anything approaching luxury was out of the question under the
circumstances. The Committee of Safety was hastily convened, but after
a long discussion the meeting adjourned until some definite information
regarding the enemy’s movements could be obtained. Messengers were sent
to Provincetown with instructions to consult with the selectmen of that
place and get their views.

The prevailing gloom was apparent at Crosby’s tavern. The gossips were
gathered as usual, but there were no jokes going around; even Master
Walker refrained from any of his customary sallies. Uncle Jabez Rich
occupied his seat in the chimney corner, and as he philosophically
smoked his pipe, he seemed to be the only person untroubled by the
shadow of hard times.

“You don’t appear to be much worried about the future, Uncle Jabez?”
Peter remarked.

“The future, Master Walker, has been before me for nearly ninety years
but I have never overtaken it. The past is what an old man knows best.
The present must be left to the young.”

“There have been many changes in Eastham since you were a boy, Uncle
Jabez?”

“Aye, Master Walker, many changes, surely. In some ways the youngsters
now know more than grown people in my youth, and in other ways our
great scholars of today are far behind the men of learning who lived
here in the old days.”

Peter Walker saw that Uncle Jabez was in a reminiscent mood. The
occasion was ripe for stimulating the old man’s memory.

“I’ve heard my grandfather tell of those good times when Mr. Treat was
minister. That was before your time, Uncle Jabez. Grandfather was only
eighty when he died, but he hadn’t your memory.”

“No, Peter, few men have my memory, if I do say it myself. I was
only a boy at the time, but I well remember the days when Mr. Samuel
Osborn was minister. Ah, he was a rare man! It was not his piety that
recommended him to his flock, though he was a good man, too. It was his
way of doing good. He took hold of the things nearest to hand. Didn’t
your grandfather ever mention how Mr. Osborn taught the people the
value of peat for fuel when there was a scarcity of wood?”

“He used to say something of the sort, Uncle Jabez, but he got Mr.
Osborn mixed with the other minister, Mr. Webb.”

“Aye, Mr. Webb was one of the best men that ever lived but he had no
faculty for practical matters. He had the Middle Parish, and Mr. Osborn
had the South Parish. They were always the best of friends, though
their dispositions were very different. Didn’t you ever hear the story
of how the ‘Whidah’ was lost and how one of the two survivors used to
come to the Cape for years after in search of the pirate’s treasure?”

“We heard a little of the story, Uncle Jabez, but nobody seemed to know
it in full.”

“I know it in full, Master Walker.”

As Uncle Jabez said this the hearers became more interested and drew
nearer the chimney-place.

“Tell us about it, Uncle Jabez,” urged Obed Sparrow. “I have heard tell
of that strange man who frequented the dunes of Wellfleet years ago.
Nobody seems to know what was his end.”

Uncle Jabez was nothing loth to comply, and this is how his story ran.

       *       *       *       *       *

In those old days, my masters, Eastham was a town of great importance
in the colony. From the bounds of Chatham and Harwich on the west,
it took in the rest of the Cape as far as Truro. It was the famous
corn-raising district of the colony, Nauset being known to the first
settlers as “the granary of the Cape.” It had many men engaged in the
fisheries and some went long voyages to southern lands in search of the
vintage of Santa Cruz and Jamaica, bartering the spoil of the ocean for
the products of the tropics. The Indians of the Nauset tribe, original
owners of the soil, were rapidly vanishing from the earth, though a
remnant of the nation still remained. They were a kindly race and lived
in peace with the white man. After King Philip’s War, the power of the
Narragansetts and the Wampanoags was broken, but the colony was still
subject to frequent alarms from the French and their Indian allies, who
were active in other parts of the state.

Some ten years before I was born, the Rev. Samuel Treat died. He
had served the people for forty-four years, and his funeral was the
occasion of great grief to all. He was beloved by the Indians. Two
years after this, the pirate ship “Whidah” was wrecked during a great
storm. One hundred and two bodies were washed ashore and buried on the
dunes. Only two of the crew survived, an Englishman and an Indian.
They disappeared almost immediately after they were rescued and nobody
knew where they went to. I have often heard my father describe that
fearful night. The raging ocean burst through the Cape, opening a
passage through which boats could pass. Daylight revealed a dreadful
sight. The sands were strewn with the bodies of the dead pirates. An
immense concourse gathered from all parts of the Cape to view the
scene and, if possible, to have their share of the treasure which Sam
Bellamy, the pirate captain, was supposed to have had on board.

Some of you, my masters, may know all of this; all of you may know
some of it, but as my story has to deal with the “strange man” who
frequented this district some years after the wreck of the pirate, I
hope I have not trespassed on your patience by this allusion to the
event which was responsible for the stranger’s appearance in our town.

Years passed by, and I was a stout lad of ten when I first heard of
this man. He had been seen on the Wellfleet beach, apparently searching
for something. The scene of his operations was just below the hut of
Goody Hallett, on the line between Eastham and what is now Wellfleet.
Goody Hallett lived alone. She was old and most people regarded her
as a witch, but this was probably because she kept much to herself.
She was expert at the spinning-wheel and ostensibly supported herself
by this industry. She never asked charity, though people wondered how
so old a woman could earn enough to keep her from want. She courted
seclusion, and the situation of her small dwelling, far removed from
the prying eyes of neighbors, favored this. A tall, thin woman, with
dark features strongly telling of Indian blood, her appearance went
far to confirm the idea that she rode the broomstick and could work
charms. She was not a native of this place. It was said she belonged to
a distant part of the Cape, beyond Yarmouth, and she arrived in Eastham
soon after the wreck of the “Whidah.”

The stranger was described as a man of fierce aspect. His beard and
mustachios were originally coal-black but time had whitened the pointed
ends. His face was scarred in many places. Those who brought the news
of his presence said that when he discovered that he was being watched
his features were contorted with passion and his expression was that
of the Evil One. Allowing for some exaggeration on the part of the
frightened beholders, there could be no doubt but that this stranger
of forbidding mien desired to avoid the observation of the inhabitants
while he pursued his mysterious search of the sands.

One evening in the late Fall, when the first snowflakes began to whiten
the ground, my father and I had made all snug for the night and were
leaving the barn when we heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs approaching
the house. Soon the wayfarer entered the yard and a cheerful voice
greeted us.

“Give ye good e’en, Goodman Rich! Like a careful husbandman thou hast
made thy beasts comfortable. Now, in the hospitality of thy heart,
couldst thou find place below the salt for a weary guest at the
bounteous feast which awaits thee? And how is my young friend Jabez?”

It was the Rev. Mr. Osborn. My father gave him hearty welcome, bade
him dismount and enter. He stabled the horse while the minister was
made welcome by my mother. Soon we were seated at table and Mr. Osborn
continually praised the good things which my mother had set before us,
a fact which pleased her greatly.

He was a man of genial temperament, free-spoken and always ready for
his joke. Some of the stricter members of the South Parish church did
not like his easy ways, but he had done much good among the people
and, as yet, the mutterings of his enemies were scarcely heard. He had
come from Ireland in the early years of the century and he had some
of the faults as well as many of the virtues of his native land. His
views on Christianity were broad; in fact, too broad for the elders of
his church, as was afterward shown by his dismissal from the parish
after trial by an ecclesiastical court. He had rejected the Calvinism
in which his congregation had been reared. But he was a great man,
and from him I learned many of the lessons which formed part of my
equipment as schoolmaster in after years. He retained much of the old
manner of speech which was then giving place to the modern form.

“I have been to Truro to see my good friend Mr. Avery, goodman, and I
dallied on my way home, so that is the reason of my forcing myself on
your hospitality for the night.”

“You are heartily welcome, Mr. Osborn,” said my mother. “The
guest-chamber is all prepared.”

“Aye, goodwife, I well knew I should not find thy hospitable mansion
unprepared. My friend Mr. Avery is not in the best of health. In the
course of his exacting ministerial duties he caught a chill, but it is
not serious. One of the best and most Godly of men and a true father to
his spiritual children.”

“He is no better than yourself, sir!” exclaimed my mother.

The minister smiled somewhat sadly. “I fear me much, goodwife, that I
can never reach the higher altitudes of sanctity where these saintly
men live. The even tenor of their ways is never troubled by the doubts
which sometimes harass mine. Perchance it is because I have seen so
much of the evil of intolerance in my own country that I am sick at
heart to see it powerful in this great new land. I have offended the
elders of the South Parish by mildly hinting that the good Lord might
even look with favor on a Papist if the misguided brother was honest in
his interpretation of the Master’s will.”

“But,” he continued, “let us not spoil this happy occasion by
theological discussion. I had quite an adventure on my way to Truro
last night. Strange things are happening in our midst, Goodman Rich.
Dost wish to hear what befell me?”

“Aye, sir, and if you please,” answered my father. “But before you
commence, the goodwife will mix you a brew from the last wreck.”

My mother was skilled in the art of concocting a life-giving draught
based on the Jamaica which came ashore from the wreck of the brig
“Mary,” and soon we were listening to the minister’s tale which I give
in our own speech.

       *       *       *       *       *



CHAPTER V.

Uncle Jabez Spins A Yarn. (continued)


You know where Goody Hallett lives, Goodman Rich? It is a lonely spot.
After spending an hour last evening with your beloved pastor, Mr.
Webb, I resumed my journey to Truro just as the shades of evening were
gathering, expecting to reach Mr. Avery’s in time for his usually late
supper. Before I had gone very far, my horse showed a slight lameness
and I was, perforce, obliged to travel at a slow pace. Night comes on
rapidly at this season and it was very dark when I reached the confines
of Billingsgate. I had long since left the thickly populated district
behind and I guided my horse carefully over the dunes as I was not
sure of the way, not having been accustomed to traveling by night in
that region of the Cape. An occasional star gleamed fitfully through
the cloud rifts, but there was no other light to be seen on either
hand. The booming of the ocean to my right told me that my direction
was northerly and I felt sure I had not lost my way. Suddenly I heard
voices and I stopped my horse. Peering through the inky darkness I
discerned a faint glimmer about fifty yards from me, as I judged.
I wondered what the light meant as I was certain the locality was
uninhabited. Hitching my horse to a tree, I cautiously approached the
light, the voices becoming more distinct as I advanced. Then I realized
that I was in the vicinity of Goody Hallett’s hut, but as I knew she
lived alone I was at a loss to account for the altercation which was in
progress.

About ten yards from the hut I stopped and listened. Goody Hallett
had a guest, and, judging by his expressions, one who was not of this
neighborhood. I could now plainly hear all that was said and strange
indeed was the impression conveyed to my mind by the fierce tones in
which the man spoke to the old woman.

“It is no use trying to fool me longer, Mother Hallett. I have been to
many ports since that dread night, but I mind me well where the booty
was secreted. You say you found but little; that it must have been
found by these swinish lubbers who dwell on this God-forsaken sandbank.
They thought they buried me with the rest of the gallant rovers when
the old ship went to pieces under us, but they little knew who was the
fellow-survivor of your relative, Indian Tom! We disappeared, they
said. Truly, Mother Hallett, we did disappear, but not on that morning,
as they thought. Indian Tom knew how to hide and to provide food, so
we stayed for days unknown to the wreckers who were unable to think of
anything but Sam Bellamy’s gold! They didn’t find it, the swine! Indian
Tom knew his orders better than that. Give me some more rum, old hag!”

Through the small window of the hut I saw the tall figure of Goody
Hallett pass between me and the light. She soon returned, evidently
with the liquor demanded by the man, as the clinking of glasses told me
that he was helping himself to the generous fluid.

Then I heard Goody Hallett say in her shrill voice: “I tell you,
pirate, that I found only a small part of the gold and silver in the
place where Indian Tom told me he had hidden the treasure. He died the
night after he came home to his people. I was the last person that saw
him alive. In his last moments he confided the secret to me.”

“And you started post-haste to this place, I’ll be bound!” exclaimed
the man fiercely. “Yes, old witch, I heard the story from the lips of
your nephew when I sought traces of Indian Tom last month. It was also
rumored that Tom died of poison!”

The old woman laughed mockingly. “The fools! Why should anybody poison
poor Tom when we were all glad to see him home again after his years of
voyaging with you?”

“Perhaps somebody had an interest in poisoning Tom? I should better
know why if I knew whether he told you about the treasure before or
after he fell sick?”

“Dog of a pirate! Dare you insinuate that I had aught to do with the
death of my uncle’s son?” Her voice was almost a shriek as she flung
this at him.

“Ho, softly, Mother Hallett, softly, I say!” The man was somewhat
disconcerted by the old woman’s rage. “Come,” he continued, “let’s
clink our glasses once again to pledge our friendship. We are the only
ones who now can tell where the treasure was hidden and together we
must find it. Let me sing you one of my old sea songs. Ah, that’s a
better spirit, Mother Hallett! Now I’ll give you a stave.”

In a roaring tone he started to sing. It was a wild song of the rover’s
life and the singer flung his whole soul into the performance. I can
remember the first stanza, which he repeated several times as if it
were a kind of refrain. This was how it went:

  “Sing ho, my lads, for Bellamy bold,
    For he is king of the main!
  He’s filled the hold with yellow gold
    From the galleons of Spain.
  Then bear away by the light of the moon,
    We carry a rover’s freight--
  Sing ho, for the gleam of a yellow doubloon
    And the chink of pieces of eight!
        Sing ho, etc.”

There were several verses in the same spirit telling of fair-haired and
blue-eyed maids in Bristol town awaiting the homecoming of the rover
who, however, was well content to lavish his wealth on the darker-hued
sirens whose flashing eyes welcomed him to the bowers of love in the
sunny isles of the southern seas.

The effect of the song was to restore good feeling between the pair
and the subsequent discussion was free from acrimony. They talked about
the treasure. Goody Hallett insisted that the sea must have encroached
on the spot where it was hidden, and scattered it. The shifting sands
then covered it. She admitted having recovered some of it and expressed
her willingness to share with her guest. On his part, he urged that
now was the time to settle; he must be leaving immediately as his
ship awaited him in Bostoin and he would be absent for a long time.
Goody Hallett agreed to this. There was some little haggling over the
division of the spoil, but the man appeared convinced that the old
woman was telling the truth and accepted what she gave him. He promised
to revisit the place at the end of the voyage and resume the search for
the lost treasure. Then the light was put out and all was silence.

Filled with astonishment at this strange occurrence, I mounted my horse
and continued my journey to Mr. Avery’s. ’Twas very late when I arrived
but I found my friend sitting up. The saintly minister was much alarmed
and astonished when I told him of my adventure. He had heard some talk
about this strange man but put it down to idle gossip.

Together we rode to Goody Hallett’s hut next day, but there was no
trace of the stranger, and the old woman vehemently denied that any
such person had ever been there!

       *       *       *       *       *

“Now, Goodman Rich, what do you think of it?” asked the minister when
he had finished.

My father acknowledged that he had heard of the man’s presence in the
neighborhood. He believed him to be the Englishman who was one of
the survivors of the “Whidah” wreck; in fact, the minister’s story
confirmed this. Perhaps he was Sam Bellamy himself? As to that,
however, he was present at the burial of the drowned pirates and he
remembered one corpse being identified as that of the pirate captain.

Next morning the minister went his way after profusely thanking my
parents for their hospitality.

In the five years following the departure of the stranger many things
happened. Mr. Osborn had been dismissed from the South Parish and he
left the district, never to return. Time will do justice to the memory
of this gifted man whose broad views were so much misunderstood by his
contemporaries. To me he had always shown marked favor, and I loved
to hear him speak of the noted men of letters he had known in the Old
World. He told me many anecdotes of Jonathan Swift, the famous Dean of
St. Patrick’s, and he used to read for me passages from the works of
that brilliant but erratic churchman. That Mr. Osborn had a liking for
such literature was not the least of his offences in the eyes of the
stern elders of his parish.

The incident of the strange man was almost forgotten, except by those
who, like myself, had heard the minister’s story. My father and I often
talked it over and the facts were indelibly fixed in my young mind.
Goody Hallett was still alive, but she was now feeble and those who
visited her hut with wool for the spinning reported that her mental
faculties were getting weak; at least, so they inferred from her
garrulity and the strange talk she indulged in.

I was now a lusty youth, of great assistance to my father in his labors
and skilled in all the craftsmanship which the young men of the time
were supposed to know. My mother was desirous that I should go to
Harvard college, but we were not well off in the world’s goods and my
father was beginning to feel the effects of his laborious life, so that
project came to nothing. The most we could hope for from my attainments
as a scholar was the position of teacher in the district school when
I grew to man’s estate. Not until I was in my fortieth year was this
ambition of my mother realized, and then the good woman had been long
in her grave.

One evening in the early spring, a traveler called at our door and
asked for refreshment. I was alone with my mother at the time and I
took particular notice of the man as he partook of the food given him.
His beard was grey and bushy, growing nearly to his eyes. I had never
before seen a man wear a beard in such fashion. His nose was large and
hooked and there was a fierce glitter in his eyes. However, he was very
civil. He told us that he was bound for Truro where he had friends. In
leaving, he raised his hat, and this movement revealed a broad scar
across the upper part of his forehead. Seeing that I had observed the
mark, the man hastily drew his hat over his eyes and departed.

Next day I set out for Goody Hallett’s with a bundle of wool which
my mother wanted spun. I had not given much thought to the visit of
the traveler to our house, but still, somehow, I couldn’t altogether
dismiss it from my mind. The fierceness of his eyes and the broad scar
on his forehead had stirred some memories of the minister’s tale,
and as I brought my horse to a stop at Goody Hallett’s hut I had an
indescribable feeling that I was to see this man again, and that I
should find him to be the pirate.

There was no answer to my knock. This I thought strange as Goody
Hallett was seldom known to leave her dwelling. It was the early
afternoon and the day was fine, so, finding that my repeated knocking
gained me no admittance I came to the conclusion that the old woman
was not at home. I determined to await her return. I deposited my
bundle of wool on the doorstep and tied my horse to a nearby tree; then
I strolled over the dunes to the ocean side where I could view the
passing ships. I took a seat on the edge of the cliff and leisurely
surveyed the restless bosom of the Atlantic and listened to the thunder
of the surf at my feet. At times I fancied I heard voices, but the
booming of the combers was so loud that nothing else could be heard
distinctly. All at once a piercing shriek rang out above all other
sounds and I started to my feet. It came from directly below where I
stood. Mightily afraid as I was, I could not resist the temptation of
peering over the bank, and there I saw a sight, my masters, which froze
the blood in my veins! Old Goody Hallett was lying on her back, her
throat cut from ear to ear, and, standing over her, one foot on her
chest, was our guest of the day before. He brandished a bloody knife
in his right hand while his left hand was pointed in mockery at the
prostrate body of his victim. Although almost paralyzed with horror, I
watched him. He was evidently muttering curses on the dead woman but I
could not catch his words. Then he drove the knife deep into her heart
and left the weapon in the wound. Retreating a few paces from the body,
he shook his fist at it, at the same time his terrible voice resounded
above the roar of the breakers:

“Accursed hag! lie there for the birds to peck at! Sam Bellamy’s knife
has stung better women than you and death at his hands is too noble an
ending for your life of deceit. Sam Bellamy’s own time has come, but he
will get release from his troubles beneath the waves which he has ruled
and on the spot where his gallant shipmates met their fate! Fare ye
well, old witch!”

With his fiendish laughter ringing in my ears I rushed from the place,
mounted my horse and galloped furiously to the village with the
dreadful tidings.

The alarm soon spread and the whole neighborhood was aroused. Armed
men searched the country for the pirate, but without avail. A few days
after the funeral of Goody Hallett, his body was cast up by the sea on
the very sands where the corpses of his fellows were found.

The hut of the old spinner was ransacked for evidence to clear up the
affair, but only a few paltry coins were found. There was absolutely
nothing to explain the mystery. The place was then destroyed by fire,
and for many years timid folks avoided the spot. It was surmised that
the pirate suspected the woman of playing him false and that he forced
her to accompany him to the place where the treasure was hidden by
Indian Tom and himself. Finding no trace of it, he slaughtered his
companion and then committed suicide by drowning. It is well known,
however, that curious coins were sometimes picked up in the vicinity
during the years following the tragedy, but the bulk of the treasure
could not be traced.

And now, my masters, you have heard me tell of a matter which I
seldom mention. If an old man’s tale has kept you too long from your
firesides, I crave pardon.



CHAPTER VI.

The Committee of Safety.


The Committee of Safety was in session. This important body was
composed of the Selectmen of Eastham. In cases of extreme emergency the
town fathers were empowered to call the leading citizens into council,
and on this occasion there was a full attendance of representative
men ready to hear the report of the messengers who had been sent to
Provincetown for tidings of the captives.

Chairman of Selectmen, Obed Knowles, presided, and with him on the
bench were his colleagues, Samuel Freeman and Harding Knowles,
Esquires. Captain Heman Smith, who represented the town in the General
Court of the Commonwealth, was courteously given a seat with these
notables, while the others had to be content with the “forms” on the
floor of the town house.

The opening formalities having been gone through, the chairman called
on the messengers to come forward and tell their story. Master Timothy
Cole acted as spokesman for his companions.

“Mr. Chairman,” said he, “we have, indeed, bad news to tell. Hoppy and
Win are prisoners, sure enough, and it is known that Captain Raggett
is to hold them for a heavy ransom, failing which, they will be
transferred to another ship and sent to England. This, we understand,
means that they are destined for imprisonment in Dartmoor.”

“That certainly is bad news, Timothy,” said the chairman. “What is the
opinion in Provincetown about the new policy of Captain Raggett?”

“Well, Mr. Chairman, they say he is in very bad humor. A sloop arrived
from England about three weeks ago and it is thought she brought fresh
instructions to Raggett. Before she came, the British sailors were
frequently ashore and behaved very civilly, leaving quite a lot of
money in the town in the way of trade with the people. The town is in
a bad state and this trade was a great help. The people say they are
in a worse condition than the other Bay towns, for the British ships
cannot approach such places as Eastham, Brewster, or Orleans closely on
account of the shallow waters and the sandbars, whereas, the harbor of
Provincetown is always open water and a fine anchorage for all kinds of
craft. From what we observed they are sorely pressed.”

“Is there no communication with the British allowed now, Timothy?”

“Very little, Mr. Chairman, but Master Jonathan Cook, of the Committee
of Safety, told me what he had gathered about the capture of Win and
Hoppy and how they were held for ransom.”

“Did Master Cook know anything about the terms of ransom?” inquired
Squire Knowles.

“No, squire, he had heard no particulars. However, he told us that Win
and Hoppy were being treated with great civility by Captain Raggett.
They had been seen on deck in company with one of the officers and
apparently on very friendly terms with him.”

“Very likely Captain Raggett appreciated highly that part of the
whaleboat’s cargo which was consigned to Master Thomas Crosby.” This
sally of Peter Walker caused even the town fathers to smile.

“Well, Master Walker,” said Timothy, “there is certainly a great
scarcity of good refreshment in Provincetown. We treated Master Cook
and his fellow-members of the committee to a little of what we had with
us, and they told us that since the sailors had been deprived of shore
leave there was nothing like it in the town.”

“Then the worthy citizens will be glad to see you again, Timothy,”
replied Peter.

After this the discussion became general. It was felt that in the
absence of definite information from the “Spencer” about Captain
Raggett’s terms there was no use in formulating plans to aid the
captives. A false move might have the effect of further complicating
the situation. It was evident that no help could be obtained from the
distressed people of Provincetown. That unfortunate town had been the
greatest sufferer from the depredations of the British during the
Revolutionary struggle, when the majority of the inhabitants, finding
the conditions intolerable, fled from the place and sought refuge
further inland. At the conclusion of hostilities they returned to
their ruined homes and valiantly set to work to regain their former
prosperity. In this they succeeded. The straggling town near the
tip-end of the Cape was once more a hive of industry, notable for its
hardy and venturesome seamen, when the proclamation of the embargo by
President Jefferson again set back the hands of the clock. From that
time until the peace of 1815, it was the old story of ruined trade
and constant suffering, their very lives dependent on the caprice of
the haughty foe whose splendidly equipped warships lay within a few
hundred yards of the town, and whose guns were ever ready to reduce the
settlement to ruins on the slightest pretext. Still, the people hated
to leave and they bravely bore their misfortunes, hoping and praying
for the day when the God of battles should once again decide the
contest in favor of their beloved country.

All this was well known to the gathering in the town house. In the
midst of their own troubles, the people of Eastham deeply sympathized
with their less fortunate compatriots of Provincetown.

As the discussion continued, various schemes for getting into
communication with the prisoners were proposed and rejected. Some
were for boldly going to the “Spencer” and having the matter out with
Raggett. The wiser heads opposed this. What was the use of running the
risk of being added to the list of prisoners? There was nothing to
prevent Raggett from holding the envoys and demanding ransom for their
release.

“I think that’s a sensible view to take of it, Mr. Chairman,” said
Peter Walker. “For my part, I’m very sure that Hoppy Mayo’s brain is
hard at work trying to devise means to outwit the British. You surely
don’t imagine that Hoppy’s nimble wit has failed him all of a sudden?
Any man who succeeded in disposing of a spavined mare as a sound horse,
and that to a minister of the Gospel, sleeps with one eye open when
he’s in the hands of the enemy!”

The Rev. Philander Shaw, minister of the Congregational church, had, a
few minutes previously, joined the meeting, and as he was the victim
of Hoppy’s horse-trade, there was loud laughter at Peter’s remark. The
genial minister joined in the merriment and when it subsided, remarked
goodhumoredly:

“I’m afraid, Mr. Chairman, Master Walker thinks as little of my
judgment of horseflesh as he does of my preaching.”

This was a gentle thrust at Peter’s irregular attendance at church.
Indeed, it was general knowledge that Master Walker had written some
verses sarcastically insinuating that the ministers of the period were
in no way the equals of the great men whose cure of souls had been the
glory of ancient Eastham.

There was renewed laughter, this time at the expense of the redoubtable
Peter.

“Master Walker will have his joke, reverend sir,” said Squire Harding
Knowles with mock severity, “but we sadly want someone to enliven us at
present.”

“No offence, Squire Knowles,” replied the minister heartily; “no
offence at all. With all his joking, it seems to me that Master Walker
has given us a hint of great value in our present dilemma. Until we
devise some means of communicating with our imprisoned neighbors, I
think we may assume that they are not idle on their own behalf. Perhaps
we had better wait yet awhile for tidings.”

“I agree with Mr. Shaw,” said Captain Heman Smith. “It seems natural to
think that if Captain Raggett wants a ransom he must send word ashore
to the prisoners’ friends.”

“Aye, that’s the logical way of looking at it,” assented the chairman.
“They certainly cannot be ransomed with whatever property Captain
Raggett has already taken from them. The whaleboat and cargo are in his
possession, but it seems he does not consider them as other than the
spoils of war. We should hear from him soon unless he intends to hold
our neighbors for some other purpose.”

“His intention may be to add them to his own crew,” said Selectman
Freeman. “This practice is common with the British when they capture an
American vessel, and it goes hard with the American seaman who refuses
to obey; I have heard of flogging and other cruel punishments being
inflicted on such unfortunates.”

“Hoppy Mayo and Win Knowles will never turn traitors to their own
flag,” asserted Peter Walker.

This was greeted with approval. That either of the prisoners should
fight against his country, no matter what the penalty of refusal might
be, was not to be thought of by any Eastham man.

“Don’t see what he wants them for, then,” cried Obed Sparrow. “He has
idle men enough on his hands already. Why, there’s nothing for his crew
to do now as there are no boats running since the whaleboat was taken.”

“Well, Neighbor Sparrow, that’s very true; but if Captain Raggett
is holding our friends for any ulterior purpose, we should very much
like to know what that purpose is. How we are going to find out is the
puzzle.” As the chairman said this he looked around the hall as if
seeking enlightenment.

But there was none forthcoming. Every avenue through which information
could be obtained seemed closed, and the hopelessness of further effort
was apparent to all. The discussion lagged and the people were on the
point of dispersing when the strains of a fife were heard. The musician
was still at a considerable distance from the town house, but Master
Peter Walker had heard the tune before, so he said:

“That’s Phil the Fifer coming around again on his journey through the
Cape. I wonder what trade the old man expects to pick up these hard
times?”

Then a sudden idea seemed to possess Peter and, jumping to his feet, he
startled the meeting by exclaiming:

“By the Lord! I have it. Why not send old Phil to Provincetown for
information? He can get it if anyone can. He is a great favorite with
the crews of the warships. They buy his small wares and dance to his
music. He has often told me what free spenders they are when they have
money. They think that he is not quite right in the head, but that’s
where old Phil fools them! You all know, neighbors, that the old pedler
is true as steel to the cause. What do you say to the proposition, Mr.
Chairman?”

“Well, Peter,” answered the chairman, “the idea looks all right to me,
but would Phil care about the risk now that the British are getting
aggressive?”

“Phil will do it all right; I will be answerable for that,” returned
Peter. “He stops at my house overnight whenever he comes to Eastham.
I know the old man thoroughly and I have a great admiration for his
geniality and honesty, so he is always welcome.”

“Of course, Peter,” suggested Squire Knowles, “it would never do to
have his errand talked about outside this meeting; the rumor might
reach the British.”

“I quite agree with your view, squire, and I am sure that if we keep
the matter secret, Phil will come out of the venture safely. If you
leave the affair in my hands for the present, I can talk to the old man
privately tonight and tell him how we are situated?”

“We have the utmost confidence in your ability to deal with the
problem, Master Walker, and I propose that you be empowered to act
as a committee of one with a request that you report progress at the
earliest possible moment.”

The Rev. Mr. Shaw was loudly applauded as he concluded this warm
tribute to his critic’s diplomatic talent.

The minister’s motion was carried unanimously and the meeting
adjourned.



CHAPTER VII.

Phil the Fifer.


The evening passed pleasantly at Master Peter Walker’s. Mistress Walker
was glad to have the opportunity to get a fresh stock of needles and
thread, and other little things which the pedler kept for sale. Phil
was an old acquaintance. For many years he had been a welcome guest at
the Walker homestead. In him Peter found a congenial spirit, and the
neighbors were sure to come in to enjoy the old man’s droll stories and
listen to the stirring music of his fife. Phil was always ready to do
his best and his popularity was unbounded with the young folks who had
no sympathy with the puritanical idea that dancing was the invention of
Satan.

The general public knew very little of Phil’s history. Only to Peter
Walker had he confided the fact that, when a mere youth, he had come to
this country from Ireland. He had been a “bound-man” in Pennsylvania
years before the Revolution, but when the Continental army took the
field, Phil Murphy had joined the patriot ranks and served through the
war with credit. Then he became a wanderer in search of adventure, and,
as he told Peter: “Bedad, I found plinty of it!” About the beginning
of the century, he came to Boston, his only possessions being his
beloved fife and a cheerful mind. He was getting old and unfitted for
hard work, so he took to the road as a pedler and eventually found his
way to Cape Cod where his little wares were in demand and where he
established a route.

The people liked his pleasant ways and he was always welcome to their
firesides, having no permanent home of his own.

Small of stature, with bright blue eyes and a dulcet brogue, Phil
the Fifer, as he was commonly called, was still an active man
notwithstanding his seventy years.

Late that night, long after the family had retired, Phil and Peter were
engaged in discussing the feasibility of the mission to the “Spencer.”

As Peter had surmised, Phil was more than anxious to be of assistance
to his good friends. There might be some difficulty in getting an
interview with the prisoners, but he felt sure there would be no
objection to his visiting the warship.

“It’s just like this, Masther Walker: the boys aboard the ship think
old Phil is a kind of an omadhaun, as we call a simpleton in the old
counthry. Captain Raggett has a fine crew of dacint min, an’ many
the shillin’ they threw at the old pedler for his little goods. The
officers is all gintiemin, an’ there’s only wan man aboard who behaves
like an upstart of a fellow. He’s a master’s mate called Dunton. He
thried some of his nasty ways on me, but I kep’ my timper, thank God!”

“Perhaps he may interfere with you again, Phil?”

“Well, Masther Walker, if he does it won’t upset me. You see, if I am
to get this job done for you, it won’t do for me to lose my timper
whatever cause I get, will it?”

“No, Phil, it won’t. I know we can trust you, old friend, and I am
proud that I told the meeting so. Not that any person doubted you, but
you know these are troubled times, Phil, and the enemy is upon us; so
most of us don’t know which way to turn for help.”

“I know that well, sir, an’ it would ill become me to refuse to do a
small favor for the frinds who have always been good to old Phil, even
if my heart an’ soul wasn’t with the cause.”

“You are well acquainted in Provincetown?”

“Oh, fairly well, Masther Walker. Old Phil knows almost everybody on
the Cape. There isn’t much money in Provincetown these times, but the
good housekeepers have always a few pence for the needles an’ thread.
I’ll borry a skiff from me frind John Whorf. He is fine man.”

“Yes, Phil; Master Whorf is one of the Committee of Safety there.
Remember me to him; he called at my shop about a month ago. He was on
his way to Yarmouth and his horse wanted shoes. He told me all about
the desperate state of affairs in his town.”

“There’s one thing I should like to mintion, Masther Walker. The min
of Raggett’s ship are the very divils to dhrink when they can get the
stuff. Now that their shore lave has been stopped for some time past,
they will have a ragin’ thirst an’ nothing to satisfy it. An’, by the
same token, they won’t be in any good sperrits to talk much about their
doin’s. You know there’s nothing to loosen a man’s tongue like a dhrop
o’ the crather!”

“It makes a fool of the best of us, Phil. However, I see what you mean
and I agree with you that a little lubricant is essential. There isn’t
very much of anything in the town at present but Uriah Nickerson has a
demijohn laid by for cases of sickness and I can get a quart to help
you out.”

Phil smiled. “A quart isn’t much among three hundred min, Masther
Walker, but it will do first rate. There’s one chap aboard that’s a
great frind o’ mine. He’s the boatswain an’ he loves his gill, an’ whin
he’s taken a dhrop or two he’s extra frindly. He’s sure to know what’s
up an’ I’ll thry him with a taste o’ Uriah’s medicine.”

“All right, Phil, I’ll have it for you in the morning. By the way, I’ll
send the horse with you as far as Truro. It will be safer for you to
walk after you get there.”

“That’s so, Masther Walker. ’Tis like puttin’ a beggar on horseback to
see old Phil the Fifer ridin’. I’m used to walkin’ in my business an’
the journey won’t bother me.”

“We should like to hear from you as soon as possible, Phil.”

“Thin I should start airly. I could stable the horse at Truro, an’ as
I expect to be aboard the frigate tomorrow evenin’, I may be here the
same night, or, at any rate, airly the next mornin’.”

“That will be quick work, Phil, considering the difficulty of your task
and your age?”

“Surely I’m not as young an’ active as I ought be, Masther Walker, but
this is work that must be done at once an’ whin it’s over, you’ll admit
that old Phil is no snail whin his frinds want him to hurry.”

Peter impulsively put out his hand and grasped that of the old man.

“By the Lord!” he exclaimed, “I wish there were more hearts of gold
like yours, Phil the Fifer! I have often wondered how a man of your
intelligence could be content with the humble occupation of a pedler.
You must have come of good stock, Phil?”

“No betther in the old County Kerry, Masther Walker, even if I do say
it meself, that shouldn’t. But that’s not here or there now. Old Phil
has made his bed an’ he must lie on it; but there was a time whin there
wasn’t a smarter gorsoon in the Pinnsylvany Rifles than Phil Murphy!
That winter at Valley Forge thried the best of us, but nobody could say
that Phil was a grumbler.”

“I’m sure of that, old friend.”

“I’m thinkin’, Masther Walker, that if I see aither of our frinds on
the frigate, it won’t do for me to show the British that I know thim.”

“Why, Phil, they will be sure to speak to you if they get a chance?”

“I know that, but I must thry an’ let the inimy believe that I never
saw Captain Knowles or Captain Mayo before. ’Twill be hard for me to do
so, especially if the captains get ahead of any signal I may make to
thim, but I may be able to manage it.”

“That’s so. Hoppy is nimble-witted and it won’t take much to make him
understand your object in avoiding them. Use your own judgment, Phil.”

The arrangements for the journey to Provincetown having been perfected,
conversation turned to the topics of the day. It was a period in
which newspapers were scarce and few of them reached the remote
villages of Cape Cod. News of the outside world was brought by traders
and travelers who had occasion to visit Boston, and they sometimes
thoughtfully purchased a copy of the Boston “Centinel” for their
friends at home. This paper was eagerly read and passed from family to
family, but, of course, the details of public events on the Cape were
meagre, and many important happenings were never chronicled in the
press. Men like Phil the Fifer, whose business took them into every
household in the district, knew everything that was going on and they
were always willing to spread the news wherever they went.

Phil told his host many interesting stories of the march of events
in the upper Cape towns. The attacks of the British warships on
Falmouth were described and the narrator was loud in his praises of
the gallantry displayed by the defenders under the command of Captain
Weston Jenkins of the local militia. With martial ardor, the old
man told the tale of how the commander of the British brig “Nimrod”
demanded the surrender of the pieces of artillery which annoyed his
vessel, and how Captain Jenkins tauntingly replied: “Come and get
them!” How the sick and non-combatants were removed to places of safety
when the bombardment commenced, while the militia from the neighboring
towns rushed to reinforce the resolute patriots of Falmouth. Then he
told of the conditions at Hyannis, Yarmouth and other places and kept
Master Peter Walker awake until after midnight.

We leave old Phil on his way to Provincetown while we return to our
friends on the “Spencer.”



CHAPTER VIII.

Raggett’s Terms.


Under the guidance of Lieutenant Fotheringay the prisoners were
taken through the frigate. They expressed their admiration in
unstinted language. Fotheringay told them that Raggett was a strict
disciplinarian who insisted that his crew should always be in
first-class condition for work. He was unforgiving when any of his men
wilfully neglected duty; but when work was over and playtime arrived,
he never interfered with the manner in which the seamen enjoyed
themselves. He had closed his eyes to their frolics in Provincetown,
where they sometimes made merry with great vigor, and now that shore
leave was suspended he demanded implicit obedience to his order
requiring special permission from himself for any of his crew to visit
the town.

To the prisoners all this emphasized the change of front on the British
side. Raggett evidently meant what he said when he told them he was
going to obey orders. Already the “Nymph” and the “Bulwark”, of the
squadron blockading Cape Cod bay, were watching the coast between
Barnstable and Boston. The “Spencer” with her tenders would have charge
of the towns on the lower Cape, Dennis, Brewster, Orleans, Eastham,
Wellfleet, Truro and Provincetown. So much they gathered from the
lieutenant’s conversation, but beyond this they got no inkling of the
enemy’s plans.

A summons from the captain brought them once more into the presence of
that doughty warrior. His manner to his captives was very agreeable,
indeed, one might say cordial. He told them many anecdotes of the
great Nelson, whom he spoke of with enthusiasm. He gave a sailor’s
description of the battle of Trafalgar where the admiral died a hero’s
death, and he held the close attention of his hearers as he pictured
the maneuvers of the opposing fleets on that memorable day.

Though much interested in the captain’s yarns, Hoppy and Win could
not help feeling anxious about his delay in broaching the subject of
their ransom, but, of course, they could not very well hurry him to
the point. They had an idea that Raggett was purposely avoiding the
issue, and they knew they could best serve their own cause by patiently
waiting until he thought the time was ripe for a declaration of his
views on the matter.

At length that time arrived. Captain Raggett produced a chart of Cape
Cod bay and laid it on the table.

“Now, men,” he said, “I daresay you want to learn my terms? You
will know very soon and I have great hopes that we can come to an
agreement. In my opinion, you will get out of your predicament without
much trouble, but that will depend altogether on yourselves. However,
before we discuss the question of ransom I should like to ask you a few
questions about this chart. You may answer or not, just as you please.”

The prisoners were somewhat surprised at this move. Then Captain
Knowles replied:

“I don’t know that there is any great harm in answering any questions
about the chart, Captain Raggett. I suppose there’s nothing secret
about it. Every shipmaster can get a chart of Cape Cod bay easily
enough.”

“That’s so,” said Raggett, “and I’m glad you take such a sensible view
of it. However, this chart is not clear in some particulars and I would
like to have your opinion. So far as the deepwater section of the bay
is concerned there is no difficulty in following it, but, as you very
well know, almost every year there is a variation in the depth of water
in the neighborhood of the bars and in the channels close inshore.
Therefore, a chart five years old may require correction for those
places.”

“Why, yes, Captain Raggett,” cried Hoppy, “sometimes after a November
gale whole chunks of the mainland disappear and what were cornfields
become tidewater flats! If you’re relying on a chart five years old
you’ll have to go easy inshore.”

“That is my point exactly. Now, let’s take the shore waters of your own
town of Eastham. The flats are dry at low water for nearly a mile to
seaward. Have there been any great changes in that locality in recent
years?”

“Well, Captain Raggett,” replied Hoppy, “there certainly have been
changes. They dig clams now in some places where they harvested salt
hay five years ago. Don’t know that there’s much difference on the
outer edge of the flats, but there’s no knowing, and wary skippers
don’t venture very far inshore. A fifty-ton lumber schooner got badly
strained there three years ago.”

“Then it would not be safe for a large vessel?”

Hoppy laughed. “Excuse me for laughing, Captain Raggett, but if you
are thinking of sailing the ‘Spencer’ in those waters, you run a fine
chance of losing your ship!”

“How near could the ‘Spencer’ approach?” asked Raggett.

“Not within a mile of the outer bar,” answered Hoppy promptly.

Raggett’s disappointment was apparent. “But the chart gives from two to
ten fathoms?”

“Well, Captain Raggett, that may be, and I don’t deny that it is so in
spots, but there’s a lot of shoal places, though they may be known only
to the local pilots. It’s no place for a big ship like yours; though,
of course, you are the best judge of that. However, you can easily
settle the matter to your own satisfaction by surveying the place.”

“I may have to do that,” said Raggett as he gave Hoppy a significant
look.

“Now,” continued Raggett, “there’s Orleans lying to the west of
Eastham, and Brewster still further west. Do the same conditions exist
in the flats and sandbars off those townships?”

“Yes, captain, those places are just as dangerous for large craft.”

“Thank you. The information which I have received from others
practically coincides with what you have said, though you seem to
exaggerate the dangers of the localities. However, I shall have to
verify the soundings, and I think I have the proper man for the work.”
Again he gave Hoppy a meaning look.

Hoppy knew full well what Raggett meant. He was, then, expected to
act as pilot for the British and help them to destroy the lives
and property of his kinsmen and neighbors! It required all his
selfpossession to keep his outraged feelings in check, but he realized
that it would be worse than useless to let Raggett suspect what he
thought of the proposition, so he pretended ignorance of the British
commander’s purpose.

“It shouldn’t be hard for you to find a good man for the work in your
ship’s company, Captain Raggett. Your tenders have been cruising in
these waters for quite a long time and I suppose they know their way
about.”

Raggett smiled. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that my men have become
better acquainted with the hospitalities of Provincetown than with
the sandbars and shoals of the bay. As you are doubtless aware, the
operations on this station have been more like a picnic than warfare
up to the present. I think I told you that such is the opinion of some
very important personages in London, and, looking at the matter calmly,
I am inclined to agree with their views. To be perfectly frank with
you, men, I am going to state the terms of your ransom. You will not
find them harsh. For the sum of three hundred dollars I agree to let
you have your whaleboat. That’s a good bargain for you, isn’t it?”

“Three hundred dollars!” exclaimed Captain Knowles. “Why, Captain
Raggett, where are we to get all that money? We haven’t three hundred
cents in our possession!”

“That’s more than the boat and cargo are worth,” put in Hoppy.

“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do for you,” replied Raggett. “It is
not much money, considered as prize-money to be distributed among a
large number of men.”

“But how are we to raise the money, captain? We have no means of
communicating with the shore, and even if we had, we should hesitate
about asking our hard-pressed friends in Eastham to pay it. Money is
pretty scarce nowadays.” Captain Knowles looked despairingly at his
fellow-prisoner as he said this.

“You’re right, Win,” assented Hoppy; “there are few in Eastham now who
have three hundred dollars to spare. There has been no steady business
doing since this war commenced and it’s been hard work to collect
taxes, even.”

“Have you no friends in Boston?” asked Raggett.

“Why, yes, we have some good friends in Boston, I’m glad to say,”
responded Win; “but what’s the good of that in our present position?
We can’t get close enough to ask them, even if we were sure to get the
money.”

“Oh, that’s easily managed. If I arrange for your journey to Boston,
Captain Knowles, will you undertake to raise the money from your
friends there and return to this ship with it on a prearranged date?”

This was presenting a new view of the situation. Neither of the
prisoners was prepared for it, and some moments elapsed before a reply
was given. Then a sudden thought flashed across Hoppy’s mind.

“I think you had better go, Win,” he said. “If Captain Raggett had made
the offer to me, I might have accepted it. You can get the money from
old Abner Snow who keeps the tavern on the waterfront. He knows us well
enough to trust us and he’s a Cape Codder himself. I don’t think you
will forget the last time we saw Abner’s place. ’Twas there we met that
civil fellow who told us the coast was clear for the run home! Must
have been a friend of yours, Captain Raggett, by the pleasant way he
spoke of you!”

“I’m very glad to know I have even one friend in Boston,” said Raggett
smilingly. “Lieutenant Fotheringay told me something about the
incident.”

“Why not go yourself, Hoppy?” asked Win.

“If you will permit me,” interposed Raggett, “I may say that I think
you stand a better chance of being successful, Captain Knowles. You
are a born diplomat”--flatteringly--“and I also understand that you
have relatives in Boston who are in prosperous circumstances, so that
if the worthy Snow refuses to aid you, there is still a chance for you
to borrow the money from your friends. I also confess I enjoy Captain
Mayo’s ready wit, and his presence aboard will enliven us during your
absence.”

This confirmed Hoppy’s suspicion that Raggett had an ulterior motive in
his proposition. They could certainly raise the three hundred dollars
in Boston, but he could get it just as easily as Win. Why, then, was
Raggett so anxious to keep him and let Win go? He remembered Raggett’s
meaning looks during the study of the chart, and his remark about
having the “proper man” in mind for pilot. Hoppy Mayo’s alert mind
was working hard now. In the matching of wits with his fellows, Hoppy
had rarely come off second best, but this case was different. To be
pressed into the service of his country’s enemies and to aid them in a
campaign of destruction against all he held dear was a position from
which his soul revolted. Alone in the hands of determined foes, he
would be powerless to resist their demands. Posterity would class him
with Benedict Arnold and the disgrace would lie on his family forever.
Dartmoor, or even death, were preferable to this.

“What do you say, Hoppy,” asked Win anxiously. He felt uneasy at his
companion’s unusual silence.

Captain Mayo looked at the British commander, but the latter met the
Cape Codder’s eye unflinchingly. Turning to Win, Hoppy said:

“Yes, Win, I think Captain Raggett’s plan is the best. I shall be all
right until your return.”

“Then the matter is settled,” said Raggett. “Captain Knowles, you will
kindly stand ready to start for Boston tomorrow morning.”



CHAPTER IX.

The Prisoners Talk It Over.


Before the prisoners retired to their quarters that night they
discussed the situation earnestly. Hoppy had no doubt whatever that
Raggett intended to use him as the “proper man” for the work of
piloting the British tenders and barges in the shallow waters of the
bay. He told his companion in misfortune that there was no use in
outwardly resisting the plans of the British commander.

“It’s just like this, Win: Raggett knows that you will have no
difficulty in getting that three hundred dollars in Boston and that you
cannot put forward any excuses to the contrary. I don’t think he would
die of a broken heart if you never turned up with the money. What’s
such a small amount divided among his crew?”

“It certainly doesn’t look very large, Hoppy, but when he keeps adding
to it all the time the total will amount to something. He has started
on his new policy, and ’tis hard to tell where it will all end. You
know what we heard about his intention to demand tribute from the
towns?”

“Supposing the towns refuse to pay tribute, what then?”

“Well, Hoppy, I think that’s rather a foolish question. Why, man, what
can the unfortunate towns do but pay? You don’t mean to tell me that
they can defy the whole British squadron, do you?”

“Why not?” demanded Hoppy fiercely. “Can’t you see how the thing
stands? Raggett won’t take his ship into the shallow waters. He has no
proper knowledge of the conditions just outside the bars, and if you
were taking any notice you might have heard me purposely exaggerate the
danger of trusting to his charts. He won’t take any chances of getting
stranded, I can tell you, and he will keep at a safe distance. Then, if
he intends to attack the villages he must depend on his barges to land
his forces.”

“And what’s to prevent him from doing that?”

“His common sense, man. Supposing he decides to land a strong force,
and it must be pretty strong if our people put up any sort of a fight,
he must do so at high water. Well, the flats extend for more than a
mile to seaward and the landing party must make pretty good use of the
time to be able to get away safely before the ebb catches the boats on
the flats. Raggett has only about three hundred men on the ‘Spencer,’
and the ‘Nymph’ and the ‘Bulwark’ are not likely to leave their own
stations to assist him, unless in case of great need. His landing party
might number two hundred fighting men, but I doubt it. That would leave
his ship pretty shorthanded in case of disaster to the barges. And why
shouldn’t they meet disaster? Are the men of Cape Cod going to imitate
old Samoset and say once again ‘Welcome, Englishmen!’? I don’t believe
it!”

“But you must remember, Hoppy, that the people are very poorly equipped
for a fight against the well-armed enemy?”

“I know that; but, as I pointed out just now, the flats will more than
compensate for the difference in that way. There is too much risk about
landing a large force and Raggett will not take it. If Eastham, Orleans
and Brewster join forces to repel the invaders they will surely beat
them.”

“I wish I could look at it in your way, Hoppy, but I can’t. The
‘Spencer’ could get close enough to destroy the salt works, anyway.”

“The salt works be damned! Good God, man! this is war, and something
has to go. Her artillery can’t do very much damage to the town which,
after all, is only a sparsely settled place. She will be too far off
shore for the range, though, of course, she’s bound to do some injury
to property. I tell you, Win, that Raggett will make a big show but he
will not weaken his ship by detailing two-thirds of his crew for shore
work. When he decides on doing it he will take care to have the other
ships with him.”

Captain Knowles was a man of tried courage. He would not be found
wanting when the test came, but his best judgment would not allow
him to take Hoppy’s view of the case. There was great truth in much
of Hoppy’s summing up, but to Win it appeared incredible that the
outcome of any clash of arms could be otherwise than disastrous to the
Americans.

“It’s all very well to say the salt works be damned, Hoppy, but I can
tell you the owners of the works won’t let their property be destroyed
if they can save it by paying a reasonable sum for immunity. Then, it’s
not quite certain that Brewster and Orleans would be able to do much
for Eastham.”

“Brewster has an artillery company, though it’s not very well
organized. Still, it has two pieces and they could be made useful if
properly handled. There’s one thing I’m very sure of; Orleans will put
up a good fight if the British attack that town.”

“Yes, I heard Orleans means to fight. I fear it will be a useless
sacrifice of life.”

“Well, Win, we had better wait a little longer and postpone the
argument until we have more information on the subject. What’s your
idea about Raggett’s proposal? Do you think he really desires to see
you back with the money?”

“Certainly I do.”

“Well, I don’t. My opinion is that he wants to get rid of one of us.
One is enough for his purpose and I have told you what that purpose is;
so, Win, I don’t expect to see you again while I’m on this ship.”

“He can’t prevent me from returning with the money.”

“Oh, yes, he can. You can’t reach the ‘Spencer’ without his permission,
and while he thinks he can use me he won’t grant that permission.”

“Then you are going to act as his pilot?”

“That’s a hard way to put it, Win. It may be that he wants to correct
his charts and in that case I shall be obliged to go with his surveying
party. It won’t help him very much, I can promise you. I have an idea
of what’s going to happen, but I may be mistaken. I shall have to trust
to my wits in the matter; but there’s one thing I can tell you right
here, and I want you to bear it in mind: Hoppy Mayo will never turn
traitor to his country, though for some time to come he must be trusted
to play the game in his own way.”

“All right, Hoppy, I’ll tell them what you said. There’s nobody in
Eastham will believe you to be a traitor.”

Win reached his hand and his comrade grasped it warmly.

Next morning Captain Knowles was put on board the schooner. As the
little craft made sail and started on her voyage, Hoppy waved farewell
to his friend, more than ever convinced that he should not see him
again on the “Spencer.”

Captain Raggett sent word to Hoppy that the latter could have the
freedom of the ship provided he promised not to attempt to escape.
He was also informed that orders had been given to supply him with
clothing or anything else he required. Hoppy readily gave the promise
and thanked the commander for his thoughtfulness.

As the day went on, Hoppy Mayo noticed that everybody on board the
frigate seemed to be very busy. There was no interference with his
leisure and from his seat by one of the guns he was an interested
observer of the movements of the nimble sailors as they jumped from
place to place in obedience to the orders of the officers. So far as
he could see, there was no occasion for all the bustle, but at that
time he was not aware that this incessant training was Raggett’s way of
keeping his men in condition for service at a moment’s notice.

Hoppy’s usually buoyant spirits were depressed by the events of the
day before and by the departure of his comrade. During the dinner
hour he listlessly followed the movements of a small skiff that was
zigzagging its way from the shore, its solitary occupant clumsily
handling the oars. When the skiff came within hailing distance of the
frigate the oarsman paused as if irresolute about venturing nearer the
warship. Soon the sound of music came over the waters and Hoppy started
to his feet as he recognized the familiar notes of Phil the Fifer. The
officer of the deck, who had been intently watching the skiff, laughed
heartily, and if he had any anxiety as to the boatman’s intentions it
was entirely dispelled. Hoppy heard him remark to a brother officer:

“That’s the old pedler who amuses the crew with his droll sayings and
his fife. He’s a favorite with the captain, but I’m not sure that we
can allow him on board now.”

In answer to his hail the skiff came alongside. Phil pulled off his old
hat and cheerfully accosted the officer:

“Bedad, Lieutenant Jameson, it’s a cure for sore eyes to see your honor
agin! An’ what is all this throuble about that I can’t enthertain me
old customers any more with a tune on the old fife?”

“We should be very glad to see you on deck, Phil, but the captain’s
orders are strict about admitting strangers aboard.”

“Sthrangers! Well, lieutenant, but that bates the divil. When was old
Phil a sthranger among the fine min o’ this ship, I’d like to know?”

“Sorry, Phil, but it can’t be helped this time.”

Hoppy was puzzled at all this and he came to the side to look on. Phil
caught sight of him and giving him a significant wink, said:

“Bedad, lieutenant, it seems to me that thim ordhers is aisily broken!
That gintleman up there is a sthranger to me, anyway! I don’t remimber
ever havin’ seen him before, an’ his uniform ain’t that of the king of
England!”

The officer smiled. “Oh, Phil, that’s an American visitor who is
spending a few days on board.”

“The Americans is a frindly people, sure enough, lieutenant, an’ I have
no doubt they injoy your company, only it’s a mighty quare time to be
showin’ off how much they like you! You’ll excuse me, sir,” addressing
Hoppy, “but might I ax what part o’ the counthry you came from? Maybe
you’d be wantin’ some o’ my little wares for your thrip?”

By this time Hoppy could plainly see that old Phil was playing a deep
game and that part of it was his desire to avoid an open acknowledgment
of acquaintance with him; therefore, he answered:

“I’m from Connecticut, my good man. Captain Raggett will supply me with
everything needful, so I don’t think I require anything from you.”

This seemed to amuse Lieutenant Jameson. “Captain Mayo,” he said,
“perhaps the old pedler has some little articles which you may require?
If so, there can be no harm in your going over the side to inspect his
stock. The orders are not to let strangers aboard, but I don’t see
anything objectionable in your examining his stock.”

Phil’s heart beat fast now. He never expected such a chance as this! In
a moment Hoppy was in the skiff and while he was pretending to examine
the wares, Phil managed to convey to him the purpose of his visit.
Hoppy was astonished and grateful for the tidings. As the pair made a
great show about bargaining for needles and such things, he whispered
how the case stood and asked Phil to tell his friends ashore not to
lose faith in him even if some things appeared strange to them.

It was all over in a few minutes. As Hoppy reached the deck with a
few small articles, Phil the Fifer was profusely thanking Lieutenant
Jameson for his kindness.

“May God bless your honor, but it’s you that knows how to help a poor
man! Thim Connecticut Yankees is hard to plaze, though. Now, I won’t
bother your honor any longer as I can’t do any business with me good
frinds aboard this time. Tell thim I’ll come agin. Goodby, lieutenant,
and good luck!”

Then the pedler turned the prow of his skiff shoreward, highly elated
that he had succeeded in his mission.



CHAPTER X.

A Consultation.


“What do you think of it, Fotheringay?” asked Captain Raggett.

“I think, sir, that Captain Mayo was right in saying the place is
dangerous for the frigate. We certainly cannot afford to run any risks
at present.”

Captain Raggett had great respect for the opinion of the young
lieutenant and had invited him to the cabin for a consultation on the
situation.

“This Mayo seems a shrewd fellow, Fotheringay, and I fancy he already
suspects what I want him for.”

“Yes, sir, he is shrewd, and I have no doubt whatever that he has
guessed your purpose. But I can assure you that he is a man highly
respected by his neighbors for his integrity and courage and you may
have great difficulty in bending him to your will.”

“You know the consequences of refusal on his part? Much as I dislike
to do it, I shall have to transfer him to another ship where he will
be obliged to take his chances in the forecastle and whatever rating
on the ship’s books his commander decides on. You are aware that
this is frequently done with American prisoners and when they show a
spirit of disobedience to their fate they are triced up and flogged.
The ‘Grampus’ has a rapscallion crew of jailbirds and pressed men, so
Barclay is having daily use for the lash.”

“Yes, sir, we are lucky in having a picked crew on the ‘Spencer’.”

“That’s so. Mostly all the best men are engaged in the fleets off the
French coast; but I had some influence with the admiral and used it to
get a good crew for my ship. Some of them had served under me before.
They are all right until they get foul of a cask of rum.”

“I’m afraid, sir, if Captain Mayo gets into Barclay’s hands there will
be hard times for a man of his sturdy Americanism.”

“Aye, Mayo is of the stiff-necked breed that inhabits this region. And
yet, he is of the purest English blood. I sometimes think these people
must have just cause for their resentment against the mother country,
but it wouldn’t do for me to say so openly. I admire the man’s pluck,
and it would please me to do him a favor under happier circumstances;
but, my dear Fotheringay, all such kindly thoughts have no place in our
present plans. I have got my orders to proceed vigorously against these
people and I’m going to do it.”

“And we all know that Captain Raggett has never shirked his duty no
matter how distasteful to his personal feelings that duty might be.
But it must be particularly obnoxious in the present case, when he has
to fight men of his own race. In no part of this continent, Captain
Raggett, are the inhabitants of such pure English stock as they are on
Cape Cod.”

“So I hear, Fotheringay. I am not very well posted in their history,
myself; but, of course, I know that Provincetown was the first harbor
made by the ‘Mayflower’ and that the population of Cape Cod is largely
descended from the first settlers.”

“The full story of the early settlers has yet to be written, sir. There
has been little time for such work during the nearly two centuries
that have elapsed since the ‘Mayflower’s’ voyage. Europe has been in a
state of almost constant warfare, and the American colonies of Britain
were engaged in the effort to establish a settled government and to
protect themselves from the savage aborigines. The mother country
was neglectful of her exiled children, her attention being entirely
directed to the protection of her own shores from the assaults of her
foes in Europe. Consequently, much ignorance of conditions in America
prevailed, and it was not until the colonists revolted and won their
independence that Britain realized how much she had lost.”

“Why, Fotheringay, you talk like a statesman! We never studied such
subjects when I was your age. We were sent to sea when we reached
fourteen and our learning was pretty limited. After that we had to do
the best we could. I regret to say that I neglected my opportunities
and you see the result--I have to depend on youngsters like you for
information on matters with which every officer should be familiar!”

“If you will permit me to say so, Captain Raggett, I don’t think this
lack of historical knowledge on your part has caused England to feel
less pride in the career of the gallant seaman who has kept her flag
flying through many a hard-fought fight.”

“Thank you, Fotheringay; thank you, my lad. Old Dick Raggett has done
his best for his king and country according to the measure of his
ability, even though some of the young bloods at the Admiralty don’t
seem to think he’s fit for this blockading service!”

“Now,” he continued, “I feel somewhat interested in these people of
Cape Cod, and you may help me to understand them better. I notice your
friends, Captains Knowles and Mayo, speak excellent English for men in
their station of life?”

“That is a characteristic of the people, Captain Raggett. The first
settlers were men of unusual intelligence and, when you consider the
age in which they lived, of some education. They were keen students
of the Bible; in fact, it was their only book and their language was
modeled on its style. Then, their ministers were men of great learning
and they exercised much influence in secular as well as in religious
affairs. Their word was law with their flocks and it is not improbable
that the people paid them the compliment of imitation in their habit of
conversing in good English.”

“Why did these first settlers leave England?”

“The primary reason was that their religious belief was antagonistic to
the established church. They did not believe in the establishment, and
they formed a society for the advancement of their own ideas. For this
they were persecuted and fled to Holland where, after a residence of
some years, they decided to cross the ocean in search of a new home.”

“Oh, they were for freedom of conscience, eh? Their descendants
don’t follow them in that respect, Fotheringay. Why, in this very
town of Provincetown there is at present open war between the
Congregationalists and the Methodists! The Methodists are newcomers,
and the adherents of the old order resent their presence. Are they not
practising here the tactics against which their forefathers rebelled in
England?”

The humor of the situation appealed to the lieutenant and he laughingly
answered:

“That, indeed, seems to be the case, sir. It must certainly be admitted
that the era of perfect religious toleration has not yet arrived.
However, we English are not in a position to throw stones at the Cape
Codders. Our own laws dealing with his majesty’s Catholic subjects are
no credit to our enlightenment.”

“I quite agree with you, Fotheringay, and I hope we may live to see the
day when every man can freely worship God as his conscience dictates.
Creeds should matter little when a common danger threatens a people. I
must say, however, that I am surprised to learn of intolerance in this
young land of America. In old Europe we are the slaves of tradition and
suspicion, and reform is slow, but the same thing does not apply to the
New World where there’s a chance for all to start on the same level.”

After some further conversation of this kind, they resumed the
discussion of the prospective operations.

“I shall have to ask tribute from all the towns, and I don’t mean to
be hard on them; but they must pay, if only as evidence to convince
London that we are doing something. I know they are in a bad state
financially but that’s their lookout.”

“In case they refuse, Captain Raggett, what are you going to do?”

Captain Raggett’s expression hardened. “They dare not refuse,
Fotheringay. The salt works along the shore can easily be destroyed
by our guns, and as salt-making is the principal industry the people
will think a long time before they invite its destruction. We can
throw shots into the villages, but I shall not resort to such extreme
measures until I am forced to do so.”

“Brewster has an artillery company, I understand, sir, and it may do
some damage to a landing party?”

“There will be no landing party, Fotheringay, unless we get
reinforcements. I have been considering that point and I have come to
the conclusion that these accursed flats are the greatest ally of the
Cape Codders. Now, I have made up my mind to send the schooner on a
surveying cruise in the bay and I purpose to have your friend Mayo act
as pilot. Dunton will be the officer in charge of the schooner.”

“I foresee trouble, Captain Raggett. Dunton heartily hates all
Americans and there is sure to be a clash. You know Dunton’s surly
disposition?”

“Yes; but he’s a good man in his place. He’s sour because so many
younger men have got ahead of him in the service. I don’t admire his
surliness, but he’s just the man I want for this surveying business.
The fact that he has got a Yankee pilot will make him suspicious, and
with such a shrewd antagonist as Mayo he will require to be on the
alert. I look for good results from the expedition.”

“It will take some time to survey so much shore line.”

“Oh, there’s no hurry about it. However, it should not take over a
week if the weather continues fine. I intend to take the frigate for
a practice cruise off Boston, but with a crew of about twenty Dunton
should be able to protect himself during my absence.”

“That should be an ample force, sir. By the way, have you informed
Captain Mayo of your purpose?”

“No, Fotheringay; but, as I said, I fancy he knows it. However, you
will be good enough to convey it to him officially.”

“Then you don’t expect to see Captain Knowles again, sir?”

“Unless he tries to run another cargo to Eastham; then I may have the
pleasure, Fotheringay. For the present, we will not bother ourselves
about his return.”

“Very well, sir; I shall now deliver your orders to Captain Mayo.”



CHAPTER XI.

An Argument.


The trusty pedler made no unnecessary delay on his return journey from
Provincetown. The sandy road somewhat retarded his progress, but Master
Walker’s horse was a good one and needed little urging. There were,
of course, some necessary explanations to be made to the Provincetown
committee, and the worthy citizens who had charge of affairs in that
place were much disturbed when they got confirmation of the rumor that
the British were fully determined to assume the offensive in earnest.
So far as Provincetown was directly concerned, Raggett’s change of
front would not materially add to the troubles of the inhabitants, who
were already completely at the enemy’s mercy. But for their neighbors
and friends in the other towns of the lower Cape, Master Jonathan Cook
and his colleagues were deeply concerned.

“You will tell them at Eastham, Phil,” said the chairman, “that we
regret our inability to be of any assistance to them. Our own poor town
is in a sad plight and I fear me if this war continues much longer we
shall have a repetition of the exodus of Revolutionary times.”

“An’ sure I will, Master Cook, an’ sorry I am to see this fine town in
such a bad state. ’Twas mighty aisy for a poor man to make a dacint
livin’ here a few years ago when the fishin’ was bringin’ loads o’
money to the people. But now, God help us! the good days are gone an’
nobody has any money more than they want for thimselves.”

“That’s so, Phil. However, we hear that our privateers are doing great
damage to the enemy’s commerce, and when John Bull finds his trade in
danger he will want the war stopped.”

With many expressions of sympathy, they bade the pedler Godspeed.

When Peter Walker heard Phil’s story he lost no time in informing the
Committee of Safety. It was too late that evening to call a public
meeting, but there was a crowded attendance at Crosby’s tavern and Phil
the Fifer was eagerly questioned regarding his interview with Hoppy.

“I reckon Hoppy felt rather miserable, Phil? How did he like the idea
of acting as pilot?” asked Obed Sparrow.

“To tell you the truth, Master Sparrow,” replied Phil, “Captain Mayo
didn’t like the position; but as to bein’ miserable, well, I don’t
think it’s his nature to feel so at any time.”

“It’s a wonder that British officer did not suspect something.”

“Oh, Lieutenant Jameson is a rale gintleman, an’ he knows, besides,
that old Phil wouldn’t desave him!”

The old man’s innocent expression as he said this caused general
laughter.

“If he should hear the result of your visit, Phil, he won’t be so
confiding the next time,” said Squire Knowles.

“Faith, an’ I’m sure he won’t, squire. But I’m thinkin’ it will be a
long time before the lieutenant will see me agin. This war will soon be
over, plaze God, an’ the foreigners will sail away an’ lave the people
o’ Cape Cod in paice wance more.”

“What makes you think so, Phil?”

“Well, squire, I heard some talk in Yarmouth about the work o’ the
American privateers among the British ships, an’ Master Cook o’
Provincetown told me the same story. ’Tis said that John Bull is
grumbling about the loss he’s sufferin’ an’ that the big merchants o’
London won’t stand it much longer. Our frind John is like the rest of
us, he hates to get touched in the pocket.”

“So Hoppy is going as pilot,” said Captain Jared Higgins; “that’s about
the last thing I’d expect from Hoppy Mayo!”

“As I told you,” replied Phil to this, “Captain Mayo said that some
people might think it quare that he agreed to it; but you needn’t fear
about him, Captain Higgins; he’ll never turn thraitor. Whatever he has
in his mind to do I can’t tell you, but from the little he told me I
can see that his mind is workin’ hard at some plan to get the betther
o’ the inimy. All I know is that he wanted you to have faith in him,
an’ anywan who knows Captain Mayo will find that enough.”

“That’s right, Phil; I firmly believe Hoppy will outwit them!” cried
Peter Walker.

“This war will beggar the people of Cape Cod, anyway,” growled Captain
Jared. “If the President took Governor Strong’s advice there would be
no war.”

This was Captain Jared’s great point in his antagonism to the war
policy of the national government. His prolonged idleness was having a
bad effect on his temper and the gallant old seaman was always ready
and willing to argue at any length in support of his views. Not many
cared to enter the lists with the captain; but Peter Walker, a strong
supporter of the administration and Jared’s foremost opponent, remarked:

“The President has more sense than to listen to such people as Cale
Strong, Jared, and there’s lots of people on Cape Cod who don’t think
much of the same Cale.”

“Is that so, Peter?” Captain Jared turned fiercely to where Peter sat
in his accustomed place. “Everybody knows that you can’t lose much by
the war. What is it to you if the British destroy the salt works? You
took good care to sell your share in the salt business to Ed. Clark,
though I’m not saying that you did so on account of the war. Still,
if a man has so little to lose as you have in that way, it don’t seem
right for him to find fault with those who suffer most.”

Peter’s goodhumor was proof against this assault. “Well, Jared,” he
replied, “I think I gave Ed. quite a good bargain in the matter, and
he seemed to be satisfied. What I want to show you is this: Strong
received 53 votes at the last election and Dexter got 31. That was
the vote of Eastham and it shows that there are thirty voters besides
myself who agree with the President of the United States as against
Governor Strong.”

“I’m willing to bet that most of the thirty owe you money for
horseshoeing!” retorted Captain Jared, “and, anyway, Peter, ’tis easy
to tell who they are; they are your cronies who spend most of their
time in your shop listening to your rhymes making fun of the neighbors,
and enjoying it, too. The fools don’t know that you’ll be after
themselves soon!”

Roars of laughter greeted this thrust at Peter and Obed Sparrow cried:

“That’s right, Captain Jared! you are the man to down Peter.”

Jared gave Obed a withering glance. “Good Lord, Obed Sparrow!” he
exclaimed, “to think of your putting in your oar when you just echo
every word that comes from Peter’s mouth! I’ll give Peter the credit of
being able to twist you and your fellows about his little finger when
he wants your votes; but by George, that’s no reason why you should
interfere in this argument.”

Obed looked crestfallen at this rebuke. Peter rallied to his support.

“Why, Jared, Obed is one of the most independent men in this town,
and you know it. Obed’s vote isn’t for sale like some others we know
that followed the Strong party, and I don’t mean you by that, Captain
Higgins.”

Obed was grateful for this testimony to his integrity. He plucked up
courage to return to the fray.

“Thank you, Master Walker. I suppose Captain Jared also believes that
you made the Orleans voters go against Strong! That town gave 101 for
Dexter and only 21 for Strong. If all the people there who went against
Cale Strong owe you money you must have a lot of names on your books!”

“Don’t talk to me about Orleans, Obed Sparrow,” cried Captain Jared;
“they are the most pig-headed of all the war party. Simeon Kingman is a
firebrand and he is ably assisted by John Kenrick.”

“If Squire Kingman and Master John Kenrick are firebrands, Captain
Jared, they are backed by their townsmen in the firing. They have
always been leading men in their town and they wouldn’t be if they
didn’t prove themselves worthy.”

“I’m not saying anything against their characters, Obed. They are
friends of mine though I don’t agree with their politics. They think
they can defy the British fleet! Any fool should know that you can’t
beat off a heavily armed force with a few old muskets, and, so far as I
know, that’s about all the arms they have.”

“Then you don’t believe in fighting, Captain Jared?”

“Obed, you are a young man and you have proved yourself a brave man.
I have no right to find fault with you for asking that question, but
in my young days we were taught to believe that men whose gray beards
betokened years of experience behind them had seen some of the ups and
downs of life and could fairly advise us in our troubles. I am close to
my seventieth year and in my time I have seen bloody deeds done afloat
and ashore. Like you, at one time I thought the quick answer and the
ready blow most became a man, and even yet I think there are occasions
when there is no other course open to a man of honor. It was on such
an occasion that I got this wound, Obed; but the Barbary pirate who
inflicted it never lived to harm anybody else.”

There was intense silence as Captain Jared opened his shirt front and
displayed a terrible scar across his chest.

“When you ask me if I believe in fighting, Obed, I can call this to
witness, though the occasion doesn’t often arise when a man doubts
my word. If your uncle Jethro could come to life he might tell you
of that terrible night in the Straits of Gibraltar when the pirates
boarded us and five stalwart Yankees gave their lives in defence of
their ship.”

The crowd was deeply stirred by the old man’s words and Obed Sparrow
impulsively shouted:

“By the Lord, Captain Jared! I humbly ask your pardon. I never doubted
your willingness to fight, but my question applied to the present
trouble. I’m sorry I said anything about it now.”

“That’s all right, my lad,” answered Captain Jared; “all I ask is that
if some of us believe the unfortunate people of these villages can get
out of their troubles without bloodshed and utter ruin we shall not
be considered any less anxious to uphold the honor of the flag than
those who advocate sterner work against the enemy. For my own part, I
am willing to abide by whatever the Committee of Safety and the people
decide on.”

“Bravo, Captain Jared!” exclaimed Peter Walker. “That’s the proper
way to look at it. And now, friends, I think it’s time to go home,
especially as Neighbor Crosby is doing very little business these hard
times!”

“Very little, indeed, Master Walker, but I’m expecting something
overland soon.”

“Glad to hear it, Master Crosby. Good night!”



CHAPTER XII.

On Board the Schooner.


Fotheringay, in his kindly way, conveyed the captain’s orders to Hoppy
and strongly advised the Cape Codder to make the best of a difficult
situation.

“I feel sure, Captain Mayo, that your patriotism urges you to refuse
Captain Raggett’s ultimatum; but, after all, you are not asked to take
arms against your compatriots. My interpretation of your orders is that
your duty will be to assist Dunton in keeping the schooner clear of the
shoals during the surveying cruise.”

“I’m not any too well read in the law, lieutenant, but I can plainly
see that my assistance to the enemy in war time looks pretty much like
treason to my country. I have heard Uncle Jabez Rich tell the story of
Benedict Arnold too often not to know something of a traitor’s fate.
All the same, lieutenant, ’tis very kind of you to try and make it easy
for me.”

“Captain Raggett is determined to have his way in this matter, Captain
Mayo, and it pains me to think of your position should you refuse
to carry out his orders. I have heard some stories of the fearful
punishments suffered by recalcitrant American prisoners and I know
Barclay of the ‘Grampus’ does not mince matters when dealing with such
unfortunates.”

“Aye,” said Hoppy, “I know the poor devils are badly treated. Dunton
seems to know that we are to be shipmates; he passed me a short time
ago and there was a triumphant leer on his countenance. I shouldn’t
call him a handsome man at the best of times, but the look he favored
me with would become the devil himself!”

“Yes, Captain Mayo, Dunton has got orders to be ready for the cruise. I
regret that you should be under his command, but I trust you will see
the uselessness of running foul of him.”

“Oh, you can trust me for that, lieutenant. I shall make it a point to
steer clear of him as much as I can. Anyway, as the schooner will have
a crew of twenty it looks like a poor chance for me in case of trouble!”

“The crew will treat you all right. They are all good men and
especially detailed for this business on account of their good
characters. Like all man-o’-war’s men they like their frolic and their
grog, but Dunton is not very popular and he is sure to limit the strong
waters.”

“Then his popularity won’t increase, Mr. Fotheringay. When do we start?”

“The frigate sails tomorrow for a practice cruise in Massachusetts bay
and it is probable that the schooner will leave at the same time.”

“All right, Mr. Fotheringay; you can tell Captain Raggett that I shall
do my best to help Dunton in the survey. Between us we should be able
to find out the dangerous places, and they are many. I wonder what Win
Knowles thinks of all this!”

“Captain Knowles will be very busy getting that ransom money,” replied
the lieutenant smilingly.

“He’ll be in a devil of a state of mind when he finds that he can’t get
back to the frigate! However, I gave him a broad hint that his journey
would do me no good, but Win was always one of those fellows that you
can’t convince when he’s made up his mind that his own ideas are the
best.”

Fotheringay reported Hoppy’s decision to the commander and the latter
expressed his satisfaction at the Cape Codder’s acquiescence in the
project. Next morning, the frigate passed out of Provincetown harbor
and headed for the northwest. Soon after, the schooner’s anchor was
weighed and the memorable cruise began.

It was a lovely morning. Before the gentle breeze the schooner
took her leisurely way across Cape Cod bay and in the direction
of Barnstable. As he stood on her deck, Hoppy Mayo was a prey to
conflicting thoughts. He little dreamed that at the finish of the
adventure in which he was an unwilling participant he should occupy a
niche in the temple of fame, or that his name should be handed down
through the years as that of a man who had not hesitated in the face of
fearful odds to match his strategy against the foes of his country and
win undying renown by an act of individual daring which has rarely been
equaled in our naval annals. No such thought crossed his mind; but, on
the contrary, he felt already the opprobrium which would be his lot
when history should record the fact that he had aided the enemies of
the fatherland. True, he had not abandoned all hope; his keen mind had
been at work and he had reasoned it out that there was still a chance
left. This chance was a remote one, but stranger things had occurred
and fortune might yet favor him.

As the schooner crept across the bay, Hoppy’s gaze ranged along the
low-lying shores of old Cape Cod. The long stretches of white strand
glistened in the sunlight and the tiny hillocks, known as the dunes,
seemed to be engaged in a brave effort to raise themselves above the
tops of the sea pines and the stunted oaks of the neighboring groves.
Billingsgate Point broke the sameness of the coastline and guarded the
harbor of Wellfleet, the only important haven south of Provincetown,
the other landing-places being small creeks and inlets. The high
tide concealed the treacherous flats so much dreaded by the British
commander, and the placid surface of the sea revealed no evidence of
the dangerous sandbars on which many a heedless mariner had come to
grief. Within the encircling arm of the Cape, almost at the point where
it abruptly turns northward, the pilot could see his native village
of Eastham, and the sight added to his bitterness of soul. Cape Cod
towns were then, and, indeed, are at the present day, straggling
places altogether different from the old-world idea of a town. They are
properly townships, each about six miles in length and, on the lower
Cape, from Brewster to Provincetown, the width of each township varies
with the Cape itself, being bounded on either side by the ocean and the
bay, narrowing from about three miles at Orleans to a good deal less
at Truro and Provincetown. There is no crowding of habitations in the
villages. Land is cheap and the people believe in plenty of elbow room.

For the first time since the outbreak of hostilities, Hoppy felt
inclined to coincide with the views of Jared Higgins, Winslow Knowles
and other leaders of the anti-war party. It was easy enough to join in
the patriotic indignation aroused by the acts of the British, but it
was one thing to wax eloquent on the question at Crosby’s and another
to be helpless in the hands of the enemy, forced to obey the orders of
a bully like Dunton and obliged to play a part, the very thought of
which brought the blush of shame to his cheek. There, a few miles away,
were “his young barbarians all at play.” There were his neighbors, the
playmates of his childhood and the companions of his youth and manhood.
Peace, for the moment, hovered over the scene and in the absence of
the warships there appeared nothing likely to disturb the seeming
tranquility of the smiling land. But what of the morrow? The thunder of
the enemy’s guns would bring terror to helpless women and children and
many a happy home might suffer the loss of its brave defenders. Ruined
rooftree and bloody corpse would testify to Britannia’s might, and all
because the cradle-land of his race with cruel arrogance refused to the
youthful and still weak American nation the rights which every free
people must maintain or perish. So absorbed was the captive in these
reflections that he did not notice the approach of Dunton until the
latter’s voice brought him to with a start.

“Taking in the scenery, Mayo? One would think you had never seen it
before by the attention you seem to be giving it.”

Hoppy took no notice of the sneering tone in which this was said. He
had made up his mind to stand a lot from Dunton, but every insult would
be stored in his memory and when the proper time arrived the Englishman
would be amply repaid in a manner thoroughly satisfactory to the
American.

“It looks kind of pretty at this distance, Mr. Dunton.”

“Seems to me you have a queer idea of prettiness, Mayo. A few heaps of
sand and a few miserable patches of trees don’t make a pretty scene, to
my mind. How sensible people can be content to live on such a sandbar
is more than I can understand.”

“Yet, Mr. Dunton, the men who first settled here were Englishmen and
their descendants are still the owners of the land.”

“That may be so, Mayo, but I have heard the first English in these
parts were a set of cranks who left England because they could not get
along with their own people.”

“Then there must be quite a lot of that crankiness left in the blood,”
answered Hoppy slyly. “The present inhabitants have no great welcome
for their friends from the other side.”

“Any Englishman who would leave his own country for this savage place
must have something wrong with him. You have no aristocracy here,
Mayo, and any country without an aristocracy can never rank as a great
nation. What would England be without her aristocracy?”

Hoppy was surprised to find Dunton in such a conversational mood and
gave him every encouragement to talk.

“What good does an aristocracy do for England, Mr. Dunton?”

“Of course you Yankees can’t be expected to understand the matter,
Mayo; but, for one thing, will you tell me how England could officer
her army and navy unless she had an aristocracy to furnish the men for
the positions?”

“I certainly can’t answer that question, Mr. Dunton, knowing so very
little about your ways over there, but I have heard Uncle Jabez Rich
say that a title does not make a man an aristocrat.”

“Whoever this Rich is, he’s a fool, Mayo. What’s a title for unless it
be for the purpose of placing a man in the aristocratic class?”

“Then you wouldn’t consider such a man as George Washington an
aristocrat?”

Dunton laughed heartily at this question. “No, Mayo, indeed I wouldn’t,
although I have heard that your great man was a cut above the common
people. He would probably rank as a small squire with us, or as a
gentleman farmer. Lafayette was an aristocrat, though only a French
one.”

“By George, Mr. Dunton, I see my education has been sadly neglected!
All I can say is that Washington fought pretty well considering he
wasn’t an aristocrat!”

“He couldn’t have won without Lafayette’s help, and that proves that
an aristocrat makes the best commanding officer. Then he had Baron
Steuben, another aristocrat, to drill his men.”

“You will excuse my ignorance, Mr. Dunton, but wasn’t Lord Cornwallis
an aristocrat and wasn’t the British army crowded with aristocratic
officers?”

“Yes, that’s true, but the men they commanded were only a meazly set of
Hessian mercenaries.”

“Oh, I see,” said Hoppy as if he were convinced.

The schooner was now within a few miles of Nobscusset Point. Soundings
were taken frequently but the results showed no immediate danger.
Dunton, however, decided to cast anchor and he informed Hoppy that
if the wind were favorable later he should survey to the eastward
and anchor for the night off Brewster. But the wind became easterly,
continuing so all day, and as evening approached, Dunton gave orders to
make all snug for the night. So ended the first day of the cruise and
Hoppy was thankful that his commanding officer had conducted himself
fairly well so far.



CHAPTER XIII.

Anxious Hours Ashore.


When the frigate and the schooner left Provincetown Master Jonathan
Cook immediately sent messengers with the news to the other towns.
The unwelcome tidings were received with mixed feelings by the people
of Eastham. Members of the war party argued that this move was to be
expected any day, and, now that it had come, they saw no reason why it
should cause any surprise or add to the already desperate condition
of the inhabitants. Things couldn’t be much worse and they should be
ready to face the inevitable like men and go down with colors flying.
In this attitude the fighting faction was sustained by the bold
declaration of the Orleans people that under no circumstances would
that town surrender without a fight. On the other hand, there were many
men of great influence in the councils of the community who favored
compromise with the enemy. The patriotism and courage of these leaders
were not open to question. Their devotion to the country’s cause had
been tested on many occasions and they had earned the right to popular
leadership by their wisdom and integrity in the administration of
public affairs in times of peace. The safety of the lives and property
of the inhabitants was to them the first consideration and the most
pressing one. When the national government was unable to come to their
assistance, they argued, what chance had the little towns of Cape Cod
against the powerful enemy at their doors? If, by the payment of a
sum of money, they could purchase immunity, would not such a course
be better than to offer a feeble resistance and invite inevitable
slaughter? They could in the course of time make up for the present
loss of money, but the gallant lives sacrificed in a futile struggle
could never be recalled. There were hopes that the war would soon be
over. The wailing of the British merchants for their ships and cargoes
captured by the American privateers was having an effect on the British
government, and the lesson of the Revolution was not yet forgotten in
England. There was no dishonor in seeking the best terms they could get
in their plight.

The Committee of Safety held an all-day session, open to all the
voters, but there seemed no prospect of reaching an agreement between
the opposing factions. It was apparent, however, that the fighting
element was weakening. The stern logic of the situation was calmly put
before the meeting by Squire Harding Knowles and his weighty words were
listened to with the respect which all the utterances of this worthy
citizen commanded from his fellow-townsmen.

“It seems to me, sirs,” said the squire, “that it is, as yet, somewhat
early to cast a final vote on the question. The frigate has left
Provincetown and sailed northward, which course will take her from our
immediate neighborhood. Though we are convinced that Captain Raggett
means to harry us, it is strange that he should postpone taking action
when everything appears to favor him in attacking us just at present.”

“The schooner is cruising off Brewster, squire,” remarked Timothy
Cole, “and as Hoppy Mayo is supposed to be on board of her, it is very
likely Raggett will wait until Hoppy has been forced to make known the
dangerous places off the bars.”

“The schooner doesn’t appear to be making much headway; perhaps Hoppy
has already made them acquainted with one of the dangerous places by
running the craft aground,” suggested Peter Walker.

Master Walker’s suggestion caused a laugh. “The wind has not been
favorable for her eastward voyage, Master Walker,” replied Squire
Knowles.

“Well, anyhow,” broke in Obed Sparrow, “Raggett is evidently afraid of
the bars and flats or he wouldn’t take so much trouble to safeguard his
ship.”

“He doesn’t trust his charts and I don’t blame him,” said Captain
Jared. “The British didn’t have much use for Cape Cod bay since the
Revolution, and there’s many a change in the coastline since then.”

A chuckle from Peter Walker caused all eyes to turn in his direction.
The meeting was sadly in want of a cheerful note amid the general
gloom, but the members of the Committee of Safety viewed with disfavor
what they considered ill-timed merriment on the part of the town wit.

“If you will excuse me for saying so, Master Walker,” said the chairman
severely, “I think this is no time for jesting.” Then to the meeting:
“We have serious work before us, sirs, and I trust you will give
us the benefit of your undivided attention in the solution of our
difficulties.”

“I am, indeed, very sorry, Mr. Chairman,” answered Master Walker in a
tone of deep respect, “but it is not because of want of sympathy with
you and your colleagues on the Committee of Safety that I smiled. We
cannot all view the situation from the same standpoint, and while I
believe every man present has a desire to do his best for the town
and people, still, I don’t think we should make arrangements for a
funeral until we have the corpse laid out. I decline to believe that
God Almighty has entirely deserted us. We are at present bothering
ourselves with a matter which may never grow to anything more serious
than it now is. Who can tell how this schooner’s cruise will end?
I have an idea that with one of our bravest citizens aboard, this
little schooner is destined to go through some stirring experiences
before Hoppy Mayo is finished with her. I apologize for smiling, but I
couldn’t help it when I thought of the British ignorance of the bars
and dependence on Hoppy Mayo for knowledge of them! Take my word for
it, they will know all about them to their cost before Hoppy resigns
his present job!”

“Let us hope that our good neighbor, Captain Mayo, will come out of his
adventure unscathed,” said Squire Knowles.

“He’s in a close corner, squire, but if it were left to me to choose
a man from our town capable of fighting the enemy inch by inch in any
game they like to play, I think I couldn’t make a better choice than
Hoppy.”

Peter’s words evoked loud applause from the meeting.

“Have you heard from Brewster, Mr. Chairman?” asked the Rev. Mr. Shaw.

“I have, sir. Major Elijah Cobb of that town informs me that the people
are much divided on the question of offering resistance in case of
a demand for tribute. Their artillery company is not in first-class
condition and the gallant major is afraid that the two small pieces
they have will make a poor showing against the well-armed enemy. There
is much capital invested in the salt-making industry there and the
proprietors of the works are naturally anxious to avoid a bombardment.
They are willing to pay a reasonable sum for immunity.”

“They are in the same fix as ourselves,” remarked Captain Heman Smith.

“Conditions are practically the same in all the towns from Brewster
to Provincetown. The exception, if we may so term it, is Orleans,”
said the chairman. “There is a majority in that town in favor of armed
resistance. I have discussed the matter with Squire Kingman and Major
Henry Knowles and they tell me the die is cast--Orleans will fight to
the end.”

“Orleans is showing great pluck for a young town,” said Captain Smith.
“Only seventeen years ago it was the South Precinct of Eastham; now it
outranks the mother town as a military centre.”

“Eastham has lost a lot of its former importance, Captain Smith, but
the people of Orleans are still our own flesh and blood,” was the
chairman’s comment on this.

Then Timothy Cole made a suggestion: “I think, Mr. Chairman, we had
better postpone a vote until we have an opportunity to judge what the
intentions of the schooner are. She will probably work her way eastward
tomorrow and we can all take a hand at watching her movements.”

“That seems to be the sensible thing to do, Timothy,” assented the
chairman.

Timothy’s suggestion was received with favor by the meeting and the
session was closed.

That night Captain Jared Higgins sat up late. The gallant skipper was
busy, but any person observing the task he was engaged in would find
it hard to reconcile it with his prominence as an advocate of peace.
His family had retired for the night before his labors commenced. The
man of peace took an old firelock from the hooks where it had rested
untouched for many a year and laid it gently on the table. Then he
reached for the ancient cutlass which hung beside the chimney and
placed it alongside the gun. From the drawer of an immense cupboard he
brought forth two large horse pistols and added them to the weapons
on the table. After this, he lighted an extra candle and stood back,
grimly surveying the array of warlike gear.

A knock at the door caused Captain Jared to start. Who could be around
at this time of night? A second knock and the sound of a friendly voice
asking if he were in, brought him to the door which he opened to admit
his adversary of the tavern, Obed Sparrow.

“I hope I haven’t put you out any, Captain Jared? The fact is, I felt
so much ashamed of that evening at Crosby’s that I thought it right to
come and tell you so. I have been down at Peter’s and on my way home I
saw your light. I hope there are no hard feelings left, Captain Jared?”

The worthy captain felt his position rather uncomfortable just at
that moment. Obed could not fail to notice the lethal weapons on the
table and would surely wonder why the man of peace, Jared Higgins, had
brought them forth for inspection.

“Don’t talk about it, Obed; no hard feelings at all, my lad. These are
ticklish times, Obed, and the slowest of us is apt to feel the strain
on his temper. Sit down and smoke a pipe.”

Obed’s eye settled on the table. He certainly was surprised and showed
it.

“By George, Captain Jared, but that’s a queer sight to see on the table
of a man who hates fighting as you do!” he exclaimed.

“Well, Obed,” said the captain confusedly, “I just thought I’d have
a look at the old kit of fighting tools which I used during the
Revolution. Kind o’ seemed to me that they wanted cleaning.”

“You don’t mean to say that you are ever going to use them again,
Captain Jared?”

Captain Jared was a man of courage and he required all of it to admit
to Obed Sparrow the real reason of the display on the table. But he was
equal to the emergency.

“Obed, my lad,” answered the captain, without a note of apology in his
voice, “as you know, I am in favor of making the best terms possible
with the British in view of our being unable to fight them with any
prospect of success. I stick to that opinion still, and I want to
know if you, a sensible man, don’t think me right when you see before
you the kind of weapons we have to oppose the first-class arms of the
enemy? The cutlass, I admit, is nothing the worse for wear; there is
good steel in it and it is not unacquainted with British blood. The
old musket, too, in its day was true to its work, but for thirty years
it has been on the hooks and I’m afraid its useful days are over.
The pistols might still give a good account of themselves at close
quarters, but they have been out of action since the night the Barbary
pirates boarded us, so, I daresay, they want a lot of brightening
up. Bad as these weapons are, Obed, I doubt if any person in Eastham
has better ones. And yet, the hotheads of this town are shouting for
combat! Why, man, it’s just plain suicide!”

The old man’s earnestness had its effect on Obed. He was silent for
a few moments and in his heart he acknowledged that Captain Jared had
spoken truth.

“But, Captain Jared, you knew the condition of your weapons; why did
you take them out tonight?”

Captain Jared drew himself to his full height as he replied:

“I will tell you why, Obed Sparrow. This, my friend, is a free country,
even though this section of it is at present sorely pressed by our old
enemy. The will of the people is the supreme power in the land and the
Constitution of the United States provides a way for the expression
of that will. We may disagree with the decision arrived at, but, as
patriotic citizens, we are bound to support the majority. In all
public questions the same spirit should be apparent. Now, the people
of Eastham are striving to come to a decision as to the best means of
saving their town. Some want to fight; others are for compromise. I
am one of the latter party. We do not know what the verdict will be,
but whatever it is, we must abide by it as one man. I took down my old
weapons tonight and was preparing to fix them as well as I could so
that I should be found prepared for the conflict in case the people
decide to face the enemy sword in hand. That, Obed, is the reason you
see those things on the table.”

Obed gazed at the old man in speechless admiration. After a long time,
he said solemnly: “Captain Jared, you make me ashamed of myself.”

“No, my lad, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You are entitled to
your own opinion on these matters, but one should never forget that
there are always two sides to every question, a fact which many of our
neighbors seem to forget.”

“Now, Obed,” he continued, “I must ask you as a favor not to talk about
what you’ve seen and heard here tonight.”

“All right, Captain Jared. And now I must be going, and many thanks for
your confidence and advice. Good night, Captain Jared!”

“Good night, Obed, and good luck!”



CHAPTER XIV.

Twenty-Three to One.


The absence of wind kept the schooner at anchor off Brewster for two
days. During this time Hoppy Mayo avoided a clash with Dunton, though
the latter’s surliness was increased by his enforced inactivity. The
frigate was expected back any moment now and Dunton knew Captain
Raggett would be displeased with the meagre results of the schooner’s
cruise if she were obliged to remain in idleness off Brewster. However,
there was no help for it, and unless a favorable breeze came up the
best the surveying party could do would be to send a small boat as
far eastward as Orleans creek, a distance of about two miles. Further
than this Dunton decided not to risk his men. His naturally suspicious
temperament caused him to imagine all sorts of traps laid for him
by the accursed Yankees who, he well knew, were watching his every
movement from the shore.

On the evening of the second day, the aspect of the sky betokened a
change of weather. The atmosphere was very still and the sun went down
in a blaze of blood-red radiance. Hoppy was tranquilly smoking his pipe
after supper when Dunton approached and said:

“Looks like a change, Mayo? I don’t remember having seen such a sunset
since I came to this coast.”

The American had seen many such sunsets and he knew their meaning.
After a keen look at the steel-blue cloud that was showing up over the
spot where the sun had disappeared, he answered the officer.

“Yes, Mr. Dunton, it certainly looks as if we were in for one of our
summer tempests. I don’t like the look of that cloud.”

“There is not a breath of air at present, Mayo.”

“No, sir; that is one of the signs of a tempest in this locality. It
may not come up until midnight, but we are going to have it before
tomorrow morning.”

“This is not very safe holding ground in case of a blow,” said Dunton
somewhat anxiously.

“That’s so, Mr. Dunton.”

“Well, I’m going below, Mayo, and I want you to remain on deck and
watch for a puff that may enable us to get into a better anchorage.”

“Very good, sir; I shall call you when it comes.”

After Dunton went below Hoppy felt inclined to dance a jig on the deck.
Perhaps, after all, his expectations would be fulfilled? Was not this
tempest the one thing wanting to hasten the success of the scheme which
his wily brain had fashioned during the days of his captivity on the
schooner? Twenty-three to one were the odds against him up to this, but
with a roaring blow from the northwest as an ally he felt as if he had
more than a fighting chance. One blast from the trumpet of the Lord
would open the floodgates of the heavens and the pilot’s unerring eye
had read the message of promise written in the evening sky!

Two junior officers, three seamen and Hoppy made up the watch on deck.
One of the seamen, a chap named Jackson, was especially friendly with
the pilot and had a great contempt for Dunton. Jackson was a typical
old salt; a fine seaman who had spent the greater part of his life in
the navy, but he had reached the limit of promotion when he got his
rating as able seaman. His fondness for grog had kept him back, though
he would not admit the impeachment, preferring to put the blame on his
want of influence with such officers as Dunton who, he confided to
Hoppy, had a man at their mercy if they took a dislike to him. It was
now quite dark and Hoppy, unseen by the officers, managed to have a few
words with Jackson.

“I guess you’re getting about sick of the calm, Jackson? Looks like a
change, though.”

“Yes, mate,” replied Jackson, “I am. I’m sick of the whole d----d
business. There ain’t no glory an’ there ain’t no prize-money in this
here war. Settin’ British sailors to such work as ketchin’ rowboats an’
fishin’ schooners an’ then makin’ headquarters in a town that ain’t got
a decent grogshop ain’t wot we was used to in the navy.”

“’Tis certainly poor work for brave men, Jackson.”

“That it is,” assented Jackson vehemently.

“Well, Jackson, as the commanding officer has ordered me to remain on
deck to watch with you, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be as comfortable
as we can make ourselves. What do you say to this?” Hoppy produced a
flask of rum.

“Wot do I say to it, eh? Wot I say is this: If that son of a gun aft
don’t come on deck an’ ketch us, I’d like to jine you all right!”

“No fear of that, Jackson; he won’t come on deck until I call him. Help
yourself!”

“After you, mate; I ain’t forgot my manners.”

“Here’s luck, Jackson!”

“Same to you, my hearty, an’ many of ’em!”

Then the gallant tar took his turn at the flask. Lovingly he held the
generous liquor to his lips and quenched his thirst with a long drink.

“Blest if it ain’t mighty good of you, mate!” said Jackson gratefully.
“That fellow aft don’t know how to treat men, an’ there’s a lot o’
growlin’ among the crew.”

“That’s a wonder, Jackson, and there’s no reason why he should be
stingy about the grog. There’s enough of it aboard.”

“Then he’s a d----d liar!” hissed Jackson. “He sent word to the focsle
that the supply o’ rum aboard was small an’ that the allowance must be
cut down!”

“Of course, Jackson, it isn’t my place to interfere, and perhaps I was
wrong in mentioning the matter?”

“Oh, don’t you fret about your doin’ wrong, mate. You’ve done right,
an’ by the Lord Harry, when I tell some o’ them about his meanness an’
lyin’, there’ll be hell to pay! There’s old Bill Brown will be hoppin’
about it. Only yesterday, old Bill says to me: ‘Damme,’ says Bill,
‘I’ve been threatenin’ to desert ever since we kem on this here station
but I’ve been held back ’cause I hated to leave the old flag. But,
by G----,’ (Bill’s a orful swearer) ‘if this feller deals out short
allowance o’ grog, I’m finished with King George!’”

“It’s a shame, Jackson. Don’t tell any of the men that I have given you
a drink. Dunton would be sure to hear of it and that would be the end
of the game. I know where there’s a good supply stowed away and I can
get at it; so, if you keep the matter to yourself, I may be able to let
you have a good drink occasionally.”

“All right, my hearty; you can trust me with a secret. Fact of it is,
mate, the crew don’t think anything the worse o’ you for bein’ a Yank.
They know Dunton’s down on you, but he’s obliged to keep a civil tongue
just now. Old Dick Raggett has given him orders to treat you decent.”

“I thought there was something strange about his civility, Jackson, and
I’m much obliged to you for telling me the reason. What do you say to
another swallow?”

Jackson had no objection at all, so he took a copious draught which put
him in high spirits.

Hoppy again warned him to be silent about the rum and went aft.

The stillness of the atmosphere continued and the night was intensely
dark. From his station Hoppy closely watched the western sky. The
deluge would soon be upon them and already he noticed faint streaks
of lightning near the horizon. Everything seemed to favor him. He had
secured the goodwill of Jackson and would be able to use him when the
right moment arrived. The watch officers, also seeing the lightning,
asked him if he thought it advisable to call Dunton’s attention to it,
but Hoppy replied that his orders were not to call the commander until
there were signs of a breeze.

“It’s no use waking him, Mr. Jenkins. If we’re going to run for better
holding ground we must wait for wind, and we shan’t have any for some
time yet.”

“Very well, Mayo; but if a sudden squall should strike us, Mr. Dunton
won’t be pleased to be below.”

“There will be no sudden squall, Mr. Jenkins. These summer tempests
don’t come up like that. The lightning is far off yet and, anyway, we
can’t get any steerage way on her until we get some wind.”

This appeared to satisfy the young men and they left Hoppy to his
cogitations.

When half an hour had passed, Dunton came on deck. He was evidently ill
at ease and could not remain below. His eye caught the gleaming shafts
of lightning to the westward and he knew that the tempest predicted by
the pilot would be a furious one.

“The wind still seems to be shy, Mayo?”

“Oh, it’s coming, all right, Mr. Dunton, but you won’t feel it for
another hour. The lightning still hugs the horizon.”

“It will mean a night on deck for all hands. I think you had better
turn in for a rest, Mayo; I shall want you when the storm strikes us.”

“Very good, sir, and thank you for your consideration.”

In accordance with Raggett’s orders Hoppy’s berth was in the cabin with
the officers. Dunton dared not object to this though he didn’t like the
idea of having the prisoner established in his quarters.

Hoppy went below but he did not turn in. Sleep was not in his program
that night. Making sure that he was unobserved, he made a cautious but
thorough search of the cabin, paying particular attention to Dunton’s
berth. In the midst of his investigations he heard Dunton calling for
him to come on deck and he knew by the trampling of feet above him that
the longed-for breeze had come. With a smile he obeyed the commander’s
call.

There was bustle everywhere on deck. Dunton was shouting orders and
while some of the men were getting the anchor aboard others were busy
at the sails. A crash of thunder greeted the pilot’s appearance on the
scene. Though the breeze was still gentle, it was gathering strength
every moment and soon the schooner would feel its full force.

“This is your business, pilot,” said Dunton. “I want to get the
schooner into a good anchorage and I depend on you to show me where
that is.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” cried Hoppy; “we must run her under the lee of
Billingsgate Point! That’s about as safe as any place in this
nor’wester.”

Under a storm jib and close-reefed foresail the little craft was headed
for the Point. The lightning was now vivid and the crashing thunder was
deafening. The long rollers from the ocean were breaking into white
crests and the boom of the sea on the sandbars was heard at intervals
through the elemental fury of the heavens. The rain fell in torrents
and the wind increased to a gale which drove the schooner through the
seething waters with tremendous force and would have overwhelmed her
were it not for the splendid seamanship displayed by Hoppy Mayo. There
was then no lighthouse on Billingsgate Point to guide them and the
darkness of the night added to the terrors of the storm, but the pilot
assured Dunton that he could make the anchorage all right, though he
could not even then guarantee that the schooner would be out of danger.

The distance they had to run was about eight miles. When Hoppy’s
calculations led him to believe that they were nearing the Point, he
brought the schooner to the wind and ordered the anchor overboard.
The strain on the stout cable was fearful but it held, and though the
vessel was battered on all sides by the rollers she swung to her anchor
in apparent safety for the moment.

There was not much said during all this time, for the simple reason
that the shrieking gale and the general turmoil made it difficult for
anyone to be heard, and the few orders given had to be shouted from
man to man until the proper person was reached, but Hoppy conveyed to
Dunton that this was the best he could do and that they must take their
chances in this spot as long as the cable held and the gale continued.

The reader may wonder why the Cape Codder took such pains to bring the
schooner to a place of comparative safety, but it must be kept in mind
that Hoppy had no desire to risk his life by leaving the situation
in charge of the British who knew nothing of the dangers of the
locality; and besides, everything was working in favor of a triumphant
conclusion to the scheme which was uppermost in his mind. The storm had
altered his plans in some particulars, but it had improved his chances
wonderfully and, indeed, the hardy pilot inwardly exulted when he felt
assured that there would be no change in the weather until far into the
night.



CHAPTER XV.

Quits!


There was no rest that night for the men on board the schooner. The
gale continued with unabated fury, momentarily threatening destruction
to the vessel, and Dunton knew that if the cable broke all hands would
be required at once to try and work her off the Wellfleet shore, which
was under their lee. The darkness and the absence of guiding lights on
the land made him uncertain of his position, though a cast of the lead
showed a safe depth of water.

To add to his discomfort, Dunton was aware that, through an oversight,
the schooner had only one large anchor to depend on. It may be said
that Hoppy Mayo also knew that there was but one anchor fit for the
occasion, but, for reasons of his own, he suffered no anxiety on that
point.

The pilot felt that the supreme hour of his life was at hand. He had
faith in himself and in the justness of his cause. He refused to
entertain the thought that the Arbiter of all things would decide
against him in his struggle with his foes; but, whatever the outcome,
he was determined to meet the end undauntedly as became a true American
sailor.

Dunton shouted through the storm:

“It will be high water at two o’clock, Mayo; there may be a change of
weather on the ebb?”

“I hope so, Mr. Dunton, and I believe there will be some abatement of
the wind at half tide. This storm seems to be a double-decker; that
last crash of thunder shows there’s more behind it.”

Then a big wave struck the vessel and she shivered at the blow. Some
of the hands were thrown on the deck and narrowly escaped being washed
overboard.

“By George, Mr. Dunton!” cried Hoppy, “that was a bad one! It’s a
wonder to me how that cable stands the strain. Shouldn’t be surprised
if it went under another blow like that last one!”

The same thought was in Dunton’s mind and he could not conceal his
anxiety.

“I suppose you know, Mayo, that we haven’t another anchor fit to hold
her in this weather?”

“By the Lord! you don’t say so? Then it’s a mighty poor show if we lose
this one.”

“Is there no creek or small harbor on this cursed coast where we could
take refuge?”

Hoppy expected the question and he was prepared with an answer. After a
pause he said:

“Well, Mr. Dunton, there’s nothing to leeward that you could call a
harbor, but there’s a small inlet to the south of us and if the cable
snaps our only chance will be to run for it.”

“But how are you to find it in this darkness?”

“It will soon be dawn, Mr. Dunton; in about an hour’s time, I should
say. If we’re lucky enough to hold on till then we may make it. Once
over the outer bar we shall be safe.”

Dunton had to be satisfied with this, though the prospect was a poor
one. He asked Hoppy how they were to moor the schooner in case they
lost the heavy anchor? The pilot told him that there would be smooth
water inside the outer bar and that a light anchor would do.

Sea after sea kept pounding the vessel. As the time was near for
decisive action, Hoppy suggested to Dunton that it would be well to pay
out a few more fathoms of cable.

“It will ease her a bit, Mr. Dunton; I’ll make my way forward and see
that it runs out all right.”

Dunton agreed. Hoppy groped his way to the bow where he crouched
unobserved in the gloom. Dunton gave the order to pay out, but just
then a curious thing happened. Hoppy drew his keen knife from its
sheath and slashed the stout rope in such a manner that he knew it
would soon part. On his way aft he managed to have a few words with
Jackson.

The night was drawing to a close. The first faint streaks of dawn were
appearing and the pilot drew Dunton’s attention to them:

“Day is coming, Mr. Dunton; I think there’s a slight break in the gale.”

And so it seemed. There was a perceptible lessening of the schooner’s
motion and Dunton felt relieved.

Suddenly a shout that the cable had parted arose and for some time the
utmost confusion prevailed. The vessel fell off before the wind which
had shifted a point to the north.

“Our only chance is to run for it, Mr. Dunton,” cried Hoppy. “I think
we had better make for the inlet, though it must be shallow water on
the outer bar now!”

The storm jib was set and the schooner plunged forward, Hoppy at the
wheel. It was now sufficiently clear to distinguish the shore. The
appearance of the sky denoted a change near though the gale was still
strong.

Hoppy held her head in the direction of what he called the inlet. It
could not be much of an inlet, was Dunton’s thought, for as far as
the eye could range along shore there was nothing but a stretch of
surf-beaten beach.

“Not much of a harbor, Mayo?”

“You will see it better in a short time, Mr. Dunton.”

Onward raced the schooner and the sea was surely getting smoother as
she approached the land. When about half a mile from it, Hoppy ran her
right into the wind’s eye and with a shock the little craft stood still.

“What’s that for, Mayo?” demanded Dunton suspiciously.

“It means, Mr. Dunton,” replied Hoppy coolly, “that we are aground on
the outer bar.”

“Then what are we going to do now?”

“We were a bit too late to catch enough water for crossing. We must now
wait for the next tide to enable us to get off.”

“But what’s going to happen meanwhile?”

“The schooner will be all right where she is,” replied the pilot.
“However, I should advise you to send your men below, Mr. Dunton, so
that the people on shore may not get suspicious at seeing such a large
crew.”

As the vessel was stuck fast in the sand there seemed no alternative
but to follow Hoppy’s advice; so, reluctantly, Dunton ordered the men
below. Hoppy caught Jackson’s eye and that worthy winked significantly.
The convivial tar waved his hand in salute as he followed his mates
below. Dunton and his two subordinate officers remained on deck with
the pilot.

The storm was almost over and the British commander cursed his bad luck
in not having been able to hold on to his anchor. Here, he was in a bad
predicament, held fast on the treacherous flats and obliged to wait
for hours until the flood tide floated the schooner. The hated Yankees
ashore would soon discover his plight and, perhaps, muster sufficient
force to seize his vessel, making prisoners of all on board. The gloomy
prospect affected Dunton’s nerves and he longed to vent his spleen on
the pilot, but he had no evidence whatever that the latter had not
acted in good faith.

As the daylight got stronger a few men were observed on the beach.
Hoppy knew that they were the forerunners of the crowd which would soon
be on the scene.

The tide was ebbing fast and the schooner would soon be high and dry
on the flats. Then the pilot must strike the final blow on which he
depended for victory. He was not afraid of the result. There had been
no setback to his plans up to the present and he felt confident that
within the hour Dunton and his men would be prisoners of war.

The schooner, feeling the want of the supporting tide, heeled over.
Dunton on the quarterdeck was dividing his attention between the
increasing crowd on the beach and the movements of the pilot. The
latter seemed to be examining the brass four pounder with great
curiosity. To Dunton it looked as if Hoppy had it in his mind to train
the piece on the beach, but that idea vanished quickly when he saw the
bold Cape Codder deliberately spike the gun!

“Treason, by G----!” he shouted as he made a rush forward. Hoppy gave
the spike a clinching blow and turned on the officer.

“Stand back there, Dunton!” he cried fiercely. “Stand back there! and
keep a civil tongue in your mouth, you d--d swab!”

Hoppy had snatched a boarding pike from the rack and Dunton paused
irresolutely before the weapon.

“Halt!” cried the American.

Dunton faced him. The officer was no coward, but the suddenness of the
whole thing was disconcerting and he was puzzled how to proceed.

“This vessel is American property, Dunton; she now reverts to her
rightful owners!”

Dunton did not reply. He looked at Jenkins and the latter disappeared
into the cabin. Hoppy laughed mockingly as the junior reappeared
looking decidedly crestfallen.

“Your pistols are not in your writing case, sir.”

This was too much for Dunton. His features were distorted with passion
and he hurled a volley of vile language at the American.

“Avast there, you swab!” roared Hoppy; “another man so near death as
you are would be saying his prayers instead of using filthy talk!”

“All hands, ahoy!” screamed Dunton.

“Aye, you may call them, my bold fellow, but they couldn’t hear even
Gabriel’s trumpet now!”

And so it was. Hoppy had told Jackson where to find the cask of rum in
the hold and that gallant seaman had tapped it with a gimlet, inviting
his messmates to partake, which they did with gusto. They were worn
out from the long vigil through the night and copious libations of the
fiery liquor soon stupefied them. They lay like dead men in the hold.

The baffled officer turned on his subordinates, “Where are your
pistols?” he demanded.

“They can’t be found, sir,” answered Jenkins.

Then Hoppy enlightened him. “You need not worry about your pistols,
Dunton; they are in safe keeping. And now, I’m going to be busy for a
few minutes and I want you to be a good boy until I have time to attend
to your troubles.”

Near the mainmast there was a large chest containing arms. It was
locked, but Hoppy smashed it open with an axe and started to throw
the muskets and cutlasses overboard. This made Dunton almost insanely
furious. Calling on his officers to help he rushed at Hoppy who whipped
out a pistol which he leveled at the advancing Englishman.

“Another step and you are a dead man!” he thundered. “And you, Jenkins
and Thomson, stand back! You are decent fellows and I don’t want to
kill you, but, by the Almighty, if you don’t stay quiet, I’ll have you
all three buried in Yankee soil tomorrow!”

The assailants drew back. Hoppy opened his jacket and displayed an
array of pistols stuck in his belt.

“These are your pistols,” said he, “and I may tell you later how I got
them; but, for the present, you must be satisfied to know that they are
all loaded and that makes more than a bullet apiece for you. If you
don’t believe me, watch this!”

He fired and the bullet struck the deck at Dunton’s feet.

“I can afford to waste one shot,” he continued, “but it is the only one
that will be wasted if you don’t keep quiet!”

He then finished the work of throwing the arms into the sea.

“That’s a good job satisfactorily done. Now I have a few words to say,
Dunton, and when you hear them you will know how we stand. You and your
men are my prisoners. The schooner is my prize. I have no desire to
treat you harshly, though you must feel that I owe you nothing in the
way of civility. My people, as you can see, are now in force on the
beach, and when the flats are dry, as they will be in a short time,
I shall deliver you to the proper authorities in Eastham. However, I
want you to know that I have had no help from any of your men in this
business. They obliged me by getting drunk, and you have yourself to
blame for that. If you hadn’t defrauded them of their proper allowance
of grog they might be sober now! Captain Raggett treated me decently
and for his sake I shall see that you have nothing to complain of
ashore. Now you understand?”

“You’re a d----d traitor and you’ll suffer for this when the frigate
returns!” cried Dunton venomously.

“That reminds me, Dunton, of what you said when we had that little
conversation at Provincetown. ‘No back talk from prisoners,’ I think
you remarked? As to being a traitor,” here the American’s eyes flashed
and his tone became hard, “well, that’s according to the way you look
at it. A traitor to what? Why, man, you show your stupidity by saying
so! You thought because I made no fuss about becoming your pilot that
you had me on your side! When I consented, Dunton, it was with the firm
intention that this schooner and all on board should find a resting
place at the bottom of Cape Cod bay if I found no other way out. You
should thank God for the storm; it surely saved your lives! It was a
case of one man against twenty-three and the one man had only his wits
to depend on--but he won! One Yankee licked twenty-three Britishers!
How will that news be received on the ‘Spencer,’ Dunton? There, I
have said enough for the present and I’m not going to gloat over your
defeat.”

There was no answer from the beaten and humiliated Dunton.



CHAPTER XVI.

Conclusion.


The news of Hoppy Mayo’s exploit caused intense excitement in Eastham
and the neighboring towns. The Orleans militia company and the Brewster
artillery hastened to the Eastham beach and assisted in guarding the
captured British. The prisoners were escorted to Crosby’s tavern where
they were hospitably entertained. The remainder of the cask of rum was
brought ashore and it was welcomed by all those who liked a gill. At
first, the British tars were bewildered in their strange surroundings
when they recovered from the debauch of the morning, but they accepted
the new conditions in the best possible spirit and were soon on the
friendliest terms with their captors. Local tradition in Eastham has
preserved the memory of that night of revelry at Crosby’s when friend
and foe clasped hands and clinked glasses as brothers. Phil the Fifer
lilted his merriest notes and Peter Walker’s ballads were sung and
evoked enthusiastic applause from all hands.

Hoppy was hailed as the hero of the hour. He bore his honors with great
modesty and disclaimed any extraordinary merit for the part he had
played.

Win Knowles had not yet returned to Eastham and some were of opinion
that there was something queer about his failure to return to the
“Spencer,” but Hoppy strenuously maintained that Win had acted wisely,
as his chances of doing any good with the money were slight. Besides,
he had told Win not to feel anxious about the matter.

Hoppy gave a full account of his adventure to the Committee of Safety.
The worthy chairman warmly expressed the Committee’s appreciation of
their townsman’s gallantry and resourcefulness, but he had grave doubts
about Captain Raggett’s attitude when the news should reach him. He
would surely exact retribution for an act which humiliated the pride
of King George’s navy.

It is no part of our present purpose to describe minutely the
difficulties which followed the arrival of the “Spencer.” We feel that
this story may fitly end with the triumph of Hoppy Mayo; but, for
those who are unacquainted with the story of the Cape during the war
of 1812, it may not be amiss to quote the Rev. Enoch Pratt, historian
of Eastham: “The commander sent a barge, and demanded of the town
twelve hundred dollars in specie, threatening that, if it was not paid
in twenty-four hours, he would land with a force sufficient to burn,
indiscriminately, the vessels, dwelling-houses and salt works of the
inhabitants.”

After protracted negotiations, the reverend historian tells us, this
was agreed to, and the British gave a written promise not to molest the
town further during the war.

There was much criticism of the Committee of Safety for this compliance
with the British demand, but a majority of the people upheld the
decision. Tribute was also paid by the town of Brewster, but the
people of Orleans indignantly refused to capitulate and stubbornly and
successfully resisted all attempts of the enemy to land on their shore.

The end of the year 1814 saw the conclusion of hostilities on Cape Cod.
The stout warrior, Old Dick Raggett, sailed away for England, and with
him went that gallant and courteous officer, Herbert Fotheringay.

After the war, Eastham greatly increased in prosperity. Uncle Jabez
Rich soon succumbed to the infirmities of his great age, but most
of the worthy citizens mentioned in our story enjoyed the blessings
of peace and plenty for many years and left sturdy descendants to
perpetuate their names. Crosby’s famous tavern no longer exists to
afford the local gossips a meeting place; it is now a comfortable
farmhouse, and the inquiring stranger can still be shown the apartment
in which the captured British sailors held high revel with their Yankee
captors.



TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.



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